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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28194987">Tales of a Prince in Foreign Lands</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/XiaoRuixi/pseuds/XiaoRuixi'>XiaoRuixi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Arslan Senki | Heroic Legend of Arslan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Additional tags to be added if needed, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arranged Marriage AU, Arslan is NOT Underage, Canon-Typical Violence, Dissociation, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Gen, Historic form of Concubinage, M/M, Manga Arslan Senki events, Past Child Abuse, Self-Indulgent, Slow Burn, long fic, no beta read</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:41:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>84,159</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28194987</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/XiaoRuixi/pseuds/XiaoRuixi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Spring in the 2nd month of the 325th year of Pars, Daryun the First rides towards the East and conquers Badakhshan. Shah Andragoras the Third of Badakhshan is defeated and captured alive. Prince Arslan of Badakhshan is captured during the siege of Kishim. Badakhshan with its lands is added to Pars’ territories as the Province of Badakhshan. </p><p>Spring in the 4th month of the 325th year of Pars, Prince Arslan enters the household of the shah of Pars as a first-rank harci as a sign of goodwill and collaboration between Badakhshan and Pars.”</p><p>Arranged Marriage AU in which Arslan is the prince of Badakhshan, a country conquered by Daryun, shah of Pars. To stop further bloodshed, Arslan agrees to marry the shah... as his concubine. There it starts his journey away from home, and, as if adjusting to his new role wasn’t enough, things aren’t as simple as they seem in Ecbatana.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arslan &amp; Daryun (Heroic Legend of Arslan), Arslan/Daryun (Heroic Legend of Arslan)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>118</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>147</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Kishim has fallen!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><strong>Disclaimer: Arslan Senki and all the rights belong to Yoshiki Tanaka and Hiromu Arakawa.<br/>This is based on the manga, not the anime or the novels, so no spoilers, please!</strong><br/>The content warnings may be updated as I write this story. If not included in the fic tags, I'll include them in the note at the beginning of the chapter. You're welcome to tell me if you want any tw tagged!<br/>Please note that Canon-Typical Violence is manga canon violence (I haven't watched the anime). It can be graphic, and it contains more than just one type of violence (for example: physical violence, verbal abuse, sexual violence are all included in this work).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chapter 1: Kishim has fallen!</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Annals of Pars History</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Spring in the 2<sup>nd</sup> month of the 325<sup>th</sup> year of Pars, Daryun the First rides towards the East and conquers Badakhshan. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>In the battle at Dorah Pass, shah Andragoras the Third of Badakhshan is defeated and captured alive. Kishim falls the same day. Lord Kishwad captures Prince Arslan of Badakhshan during the siege. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Badakhshan with its lands is added to Pars’ territories as the Province of Badakhshan.</em>
</p><p>***</p><p> It was a lovely and sunny day when Kishim fell.</p><p>“…! Run, run, you fools! Parsians have broken through Dorah Pass! They’ll be here before sundown!”</p><p>***</p><p>“Your Highness!” a man’s voice carried through the castle grounds, raw and furious.</p><p>“Jaswant, the servants! We can’t leave them here!”</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Narsas</strong>
</p><p>Narsas was very pleased with himself.</p><p>As a matter of fact, Narsas felt that the Badakhshan campaign was one of his biggest accomplishments. Rulers and monarchs of the neighbouring countries sought him out often, offering riches and influential positions in their courts in the case Daryun ever got so muddle-headed that he got rid of him. This would turn them green with envy.</p><p>Of course, there would be time to gloat after they had Kishim completely under their control and they had reached Darwaz, where general Javad most probably didn’t know yet that his shah had been captured and that the city had fallen.</p><p>Accompanied by his loyal <em>retak</em>, Elam, and a group of 1,000 horsemen, he had reached the city by the late afternoon, hours after the group commanded by Kishwad and the 20,000 cavalry had breached into the city.</p><p>He rode leisurely to the entrance of the city where they had left all remaining soldiers tied and roped. Parsian soldiers were lining at both sides of the gates, and all of them bowed in respect when they saw him. At the gates, two imposing figures were waiting for them, still clad in their bloodstained armours: <em>marzbans</em> Kishwad and Shapur. </p><p>Both Narsas and Elam stood out there in the middle of the soldiers like a sore thumb, as they were the only ones wearing short tunics with breastplates and long capes instead of a full armour.</p><p>Narsas signalled the <em>framandar</em> to enter the city with his men and dismounted.</p><p>“Lord Narsas” both men greeted him and bowed their heads slightly when he dismounted, and he did the same.</p><p>“<em>Marzban</em> Kishwad, <em>marzban</em> Shapur,” Narsas nodded to them. “I trust everything went smoothly”.</p><p>“Very much!” Kishwad laughed. His blue, piercing eyes shone with mirth as he talked. “Some poor lads were trying to close the gate, but we got here in time to prevent it. We’ve suffered few losses and we have already set up a tent to treat the injured. My men are now sorting things out at the castle. The general in charge has died, and the aristocrats and officers are being taken care of as we speak. We will detain them in the castle until you order what to do with them, lord Narsas”.</p><p>Narsas put a hand on his chin, pensive. Some soldiers may had been able to escape the battlefield to warn the castle of the defeat, but to think that old Pedram had reacted so quickly was surprising. After all, the man was known for an arrogant nature, born of notable martial skills, so Narsas had thought at first that the general would underestimate them. Well, if even the tiniest detail went always according to the plan, the world would be a boring place.</p><p>Shapur was the one to speak next. He was a man of Narsas’ age, stern and stoic, whose face seemed to have a perpetual frown carved into it. The young <em>marzban</em> wore his hair short, with two distinctive short braids with crystal beads.</p><p>“We have yet to find prince Arslan” his frown seemed to deepen. “We thought he’d be in the castle, but nobody seems to have seen him. Some of my men have started to look house to house, but I doubt we’ll find him like this”.</p><p>Well, there had Narsas a problem. Indeed, perfection doesn’t last. To avoid suspicion, he kept his expression neutral and said:</p><p>“There’s still a few hours until sundown. Let them keep searching while we get to work,” he saw doubt in Shapur’s dark eyes, so he added, “we’ve already given the order that the prince is to be captured alive and unharmed. Come on, we have to get to work and you still have to write to your brother”.</p><p>The last sentence seemed to divert Shapur’s attention, and the three men entered the city.</p><p>As a last thought, Narsas added:</p><p>“Place some men by Sorush’s temple”.</p><p>***</p><p>Narsas was rewarded when, by the end of the evening, Elam entered the old Royal Office of Kishim.</p><p>The Royal Office was the place where the mundane activities of the day-to-day government of Badakhshan had taken place. The civil officials and their assistants run most of it, and with the help of the scribes, it also served to the purpose of recording everything that happened in the kingdom.</p><p>It was a long room filled with shelves that held countless rolls of parchment, with long tables placed by tall, narrow windows that poured in enough light to save candles. However, the stench of dokha<a href="#_ftn1" id="_ftnref1" name="_ftnref1">[1]</a> was strong in the air, and there were many tables with more food and medwakhs pipes than quills and parchment.</p><p>They had taken the people that had been working here prisoners, now held in the castle’s cells, but not before Narsas had one of them point out where everything was.</p><p>Narsas was sitting on one of the scribe’s table, with a sea of documents and papers spread in front of him. An annoyed frown had replaced his usually smooth and placid expression, a hand supporting his head upright, and the other one writing furiously on a parchment. The sun was setting fast, so Elam had placed a candle in front of him.</p><p>“Elam” he acknowledged his <em>retak</em> presence, without lifting his head. “What do you need?”</p><p>“<em>Marzban </em>Kishwad is here and wishes to see you. He brings prince Arslan.”</p><p>This captured Narsas’ attention, and he looked at Elam, nodding. </p><p>First came in Kishwad, walking in long strides, holding a chain tied to a young man’s waist. Said young man had his hands and feet tied in shackles, making tinkling noises as he walked. Narsas raised, exchanged a knowing look with Kishwad, and then turned his gaze to the boy.</p><p>Narsas sucked in a deep breath.</p><p>Though the young man in front of him was covered in soot and mud, the worn-out clothes ragged and battered, there was a uniqueness in his features that would have made him turn his head even in a large crowd.</p><p>His hair drew Narsas’ eyes to it, shoulder-length strands of white hair tied in a low ponytail. The silvery strands that framed the sides of his face and the locks that fell on his shoulder seemed soft to the touch, even if covered in soot.</p><p>His face was even more remarkable than the exoticism of his white hair: the young prince had a set of fine features in an equally delicate looking oval face, devoid of the sharp angles that were usually seen in the face of a man. His nose looked as if a skilled artist had delicately sculpted it on his face, and his mouth, with its thin, rosy lips, completed the picture of a person truly worthy of being called “the favourite of Ashi”. Not even the fading light of the sunset could deny him of his allure.</p><p>Narsas couldn’t help himself, and he strode forward, placing his fingers under the chin of the boy, and lifted it slowly, so he could appreciate his features.</p><p>From this distance, he could see that his skin, fair and smooth, had a few freckles dusted on his nose, a sign that maybe he didn’t expect as much time indoors as his light skin would suggest. There was a purplish bruise appearing on his cheekbone and minor cuts on the side of his face as well.</p><p>Indeed, Narsas thought, eyes are windows to the soul, for Arslan’s eyes could very well be an artist’s lifetime masterpiece. Framed by thin, equally pale eyebrows, Narsas would say that his big, round eyes were the most expressive of his features. They were of the colour of the deep sea in summer and as bright as the best sapphires of Misr. </p><p>Though the effect was a bit broken by the slight frown on his forehead and the fact that the muscles in his neck were tense, as if he were struggling to keep still. Curious, Narsas couldn’t decide if the boy was looking at him with fear or disgust.</p><p>One thing was clear. This man was no child of Andragoras’.</p><p>Deciding that he had tested his luck enough (after all, if the prince bit him, he would have to work with a bandage, and that would slow his work pace considerably), he let go of his face and stepped back a bit.</p><p>“I can see why Badakhs call Your Highness ‘<em>Ashi’s blessing’</em>”, Narsas smiled. “It looks as if only the goddess herself could create such fine beauty and, as an artist, I feel blessed myself to have the opportunity to contemplate such a vision.”</p><p>Arslan had lowered his gaze again immediately as Narsas had released his face, and he fidgeted around, shaking his head slightly.</p><p>“My name is Narsas, <em>framatar</em> of Pars. Pleased to make His Highness acquaintance.” the corners of his lips twitched up at the look of recognition that flashed through Arslan’s eyes. “Though Ashi’s blessing has brought you beauty, I’m not so sure about the luck…” Narsas’ mouth kept smiling, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes, “what does His Highness think? How will the goddess help Your Highness to keep his head attached to its body?”</p><p>Narsas observed very carefully as the prince went deadly still. So the prince knew of the Parsian language. Good. It spared them from the need of a translator. He could almost hear the cogs inside his head turning furiously, thinking of an answer. Arslan swallowed visibly and squared himself.</p><p> “I’m afraid that I’m not sure what good would my death bring to you, lord <em>framatar,</em>” Arslan said, gripping the chains.</p><p>Narsas noted with surprise that the prince spoke well, with barely a hint of a southern accent. Not even Andragoras nor the prime minister had been fluent in Parsian, even though it was a language commonly spoken by the wealthiest and the nobles, as it was the official language of the Great Continental Road. He kept his expression carefully neutral as he said:</p><p>“Well, for one, it would set a fine example of Parsian justice for the people. They can use the opportunity to get used to it.”</p><p>Arslan paused slightly and asked:</p><p>“What crimes would I be judged for?”</p><p>“Since Your Highness cares to ask…” Narsas turned towards the table and picked the parchment on top of the documents he had been working on, “Your Highness has committed a grave sin against the people of Badakhshan”.</p><p>He looked at the prince, who returned his gaze, blinking rapidly. Narsas sighed inwardly, and took a seat behind the table again, waving his hand slightly to dismiss Kishwad. The man bowed and left the room. Out of habit, Elam moved to the back of the room to prepare a tea for him, leaving Arslan to stand alone in front of the table, still shackled, like a defendant in front of the judge.</p><p>“By Pars’ laws, all noblemen, officers and officials are expected to fulfil a duty in exchange of the annual tribute they receive from the <em>baji<a href="#_ftn2" id="_ftnref2" name="_ftnref2"><strong>[2]</strong></a></em> applied on the people.” The prince’s eyes widened slightly, but Narsas paid no mind to him, spreading drying sand over the damp ink. “The higher the station, the heavier their duty. While I’m aware that Badakhshan works with a different system based on periodic <em>doras</em>, the basis is the same: you receive your riches and fortunes because there’s a service done to the people.”</p><p>Narsas rose, shaking the sand off the parchment, and extended it to Arslan. The chains clinked softly against each other when Arslan rose a hand to take it. The parchment trembled faintly in his hands, as he scanned the content of it under the other’s watchful eye.</p><p>“Per my calculations, the Royal Office has gone for almost a decade without clear records on the taxes and the divisions of the Treasury, “Arslan’s head shot up and looked at him with a double take, gasping softly. Narsas placed his hands inside his sleeves, irritated, and said, “yes, a decade, Your Highness! The records kept in here are all rotten, corrupt and worth less than a horse without legs! It has been long since I last saw such rubbish records. Full of holes, shady budgets, messy accounting… it’s a miracle that Badakhshan had enough funds to go on so many wars.”</p><p>He paused for a second and gave a hateful look towards a pile on the table.</p><p>“The dealings of the salt and the <em>doras</em> from the South are particularly shady business. I’d heard of the difficulties getting salt in the mountains, but there’s no excuse for the lack of records of salt taxes or the income from the imported salt,” Narsas said passionately. “Which bring us to Your Highness’ sin. Taking the <em>doras</em> from the people without carrying out your obligations is a crime of fraud and greed, graver because of your high station. No luxury comes without a price.”</p><p>Narsas sighed and sat again, placing his elbows on the table and lacing his fingers together. He looked up immediately when he heard soft footsteps and chains moving towards the table, but it was just the prince placing the parchment back on the table quietly.</p><p>He observed the young man in silence for a long moment, measuring him. He was still trying to understand how could anyone detach themselves from the root of the earnings of a kingdom, and watched almost gleefully as Arslan fidgeted nervously again, worrying his lower lip. As he expected, there was a look of barely concealed grievance in his tight brow and bright eyes, as if he felt terribly wronged by Narsas’ words.</p><p>“How does His Highness pledge?”</p><p>The question made the prince go still, and there was a long silence before he answered.</p><p>“If my people find me guilty, then I must be.”</p><p>Narsas’ eyebrow shot up high.</p><p>“Doesn’t His Highness have anything to say in his defence?”</p><p>The silence stretched again for a long while, and Narsas was almost going to give up on getting an answer from the prince when he heard his voice again, talking tentatively.</p><p>“I… was aware of the problems surrounding the salt commerce. The priests of Anahita temples have managed the salt commerce since long ago in Badakhshan and are responsible of receiving the goods and sell it at a fixed price. They send a part of the income here as salt taxes.” As he continued to talk, his voice grew in confidence, making Narsas’ eyes widen. So the prince had some guts after all! “But these years, the taxes have been arriving irregularly and in much less amount, and people are getting affected by the neck swellings again…”</p><p>“Neck swellings?” Narsas interrupted him, his brow furrowing.</p><p>Elam moved then back to the table with a steaming cup of tea, which Narsas took gratefully. He’d better pay attention, since he hadn’t really expected the prince to answer to anything. Elam moved back, seemingly uninterested, but Narsas knew better than to doubt that his <em>retak</em> was actually listening in intently.</p><p>“Yes,” Arslan nodded, “In plain lands like Bukhara it doesn’t happen as often, but in the mountains, <em>azats</em> and <em>ghulams</em> who don’t get salt will get sick, their necks will swell, and they’ll get diseases of the heart.” He took a deep breath and said, “so I looked into it, and the priests had been tampering with the salt, adding sand to it. I’ve been working on it, but… I… I knew nothing from the <em>doras</em>.”</p><p>He said the last part very low and lacking the confidence he’d displayed earlier. Narsas sat back in the chair. Well, the <em>doras’</em> issue was much subtler than the salt’s, since only reviewing the records from decade ago could one notice that there had been a systematic decrease in the amount of gold, ebony and ivory that the South sent to Kishim once every three years despite the flourishing southern economy. That sprouted another question to Narsas’ mind.</p><p>“How old are you, Your Highness?”</p><p>“I turn nineteen this year,” Arslan answered, his voice low.</p><p>“Nineteen…” Narsas pressed a hand against his eyes, suppressing a sigh. “Elam,” the boy had been taking care of the hearth, but turned his head as soon as he heard his master’s voice, “please bring a chair to my guest.”</p><p>There was a growing suspicion in Narsas’ mind, creeping like a vine. He would have to make sure he wasn’t mistaken, so he could plan their next moves in Badakhshan adequately. Elam’s eyebrows twitched, but he said nothing as he approached a stool for Arslan.</p><p>“I think Your Highness might want to hear about what will happen to your kingdom, so I’ll make you a favour and at least ease your worries” Narsas said, taking another half-written parchment, but he saw anyway the way the prince perked up on his seat and smiled to himself. “As of today, Badakhshan is one of Pars’ provinces, so Parsian law, coin and language will be instated as the official ones as soon as possible. Restrictions over the relationship with neighbouring kingdoms, like Sindhura, will be applied, but commerce can carry on as usual. The…”</p><p>Arslan had been keeping his eyes carefully distant, but he suddenly came forth with a question, interrupting Narsas.</p><p>“If you apply Parsian law here, will you apply citizenship tax on Badakhshan?” He realized how rude he was sounding, and muttered a soft “sorry” but didn’t retract the question.</p><p>Narsas raised an eyebrow, but answered smoothly.</p><p>“Yes, and I suppose Your Highness would like to know that military tax also needs to be applied.”</p><p>“I’ve heard that the military tax is quite a hefty sum,” Arslan muttered.</p><p>“A more than reasonable amount for the help of one of the largest army in the continent. If anything, the favoured party of this deal would be Badakhshan.”</p><p>“But if you impose such a heavy tax on the people, life will get very hard for them,” Arslan insisted, leaning forward. “Last year crop was a disaster, the barns are empty and if the cavalries have stomped on the fields, there won’t be any to sow this year either. The soldiers today scared away the merchants, so I don’t think commerce will have any earnings this year,” the prince said with a touch of bitterness in his voice. “And if our soldiers hadn’t died in this war, there would be no need to pay military tax and their families wouldn’t have to mourn them.”</p><p>As soon as he finished speaking, he seemed to come back to his senses and slapped a hand on his mouth. Narsas stayed seated, observing Arslan with piercing eyes.</p><p>“So, what would Your Highness propose to ease Badakhshan’s people of the military tax?”</p><p>Arslan paused and looked at his hands, frowning slightly.</p><p>“If you could withdraw some existing taxes and replace them with the military tax, I suppose the burden would stay the same for the people,” Arslan mumbled, hesitantly. “Take the dams’ tax, for example. It’s a useless tax, to charge people for using water from the rivers that had a dam built on them, which is almost every river in Badakhshan.”</p><p>Narsas sighed, but his expression was pensive.</p><p>“From what I know, Badakhshan’s rivers are prone to overflow, and the dams ensure the safety of the people in the valleys. It would be only natural to charge people to pay for the maintenance and the construction of the dams.”</p><p>“So they are,” Arslan conceded, “but the dams’ maintenance budget also falls in the roads and ports tax, so the dams tax is redundant.”</p><p>“Oh?” Narsas’ eyes twinkled. “And why would the Civil Office impose such a thing?”</p><p>Arslan shrugged and sighed, his expression filling with fatigue.</p><p>“Actually, they placed it recently. His Majesty decreed a military campaign to the east right after a fever outbreak wiped out hundreds of people, and Kishim lacked funds.”</p><p>Nothing ever escaped Narsas’ attention, and the man leaned forward on the table as he asked.</p><p>“His Majesty? I suppose you are referring to shah Andragoras?”</p><p>Arslan winced and shifted uncomfortably on his stool, a flush creeping across his cheeks.</p><p>“Yes,” he muttered.</p><p>“’His Majesty?’” Narsas insisted. “Not ‘my lord father’?”</p><p>Arslan, keeping his eyes lowered, bit his lips and said with a low voice:</p><p>“I’m not allowed to call him that.”</p><p> At this, Narsas and Elam looked at each other, Elam’s nonchalant facade momentarily broken, a bewildered look in Elam’s eyes and a calculating gaze in Narsas’.</p><p>“Well,” Narsas was pensive, and settled in dismissing the prince. “Elam, take His Highness to his lodgings for the night.”</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Elam</strong>
</p><p>There was a rustle behind him when Elam opened the dungeons’ doors. He turned with a raised eyebrow, not at all surprised to see that the prince had tried to escape, so the guards had drawn their swords.</p><p>“I’m sorry that we can’t get better accommodations for His Highness for tonight,” Elam said pleasantly, as if he hadn’t just opened the door to the castle’s dungeon, feeling petty.</p><p>Kishim’s castle, as any castle worth of that name, held a decent sized dungeon in the undergrounds. However, since they had built the prison a couple of decades ago, the cells had remained unused. Or, at least, they hadn’t been used to hold long-term prisoners.</p><p>Arslan stood in his spot, a few steps away from Elam and the door that led to a fling of stairs, that looked like they descended to a pitch of darkness.</p><p>Still, as the prince made no move towards the door, a soldier pushed him with the pommel of his sword, urging him to walk. Elam looked at him impassively as he took a deep, shaky breath and swallowed, as if swallowing a huge bite of mud. Then he took the first step hesitantly forward, followed by slow movements, as if every step was as hard as if he was walking in half dried mud.</p><p>Elam just observed him, with no change in his expression. Arslan, however, wore his heart in his sleeve, he thought, as he could see from his paleness and the way he walked that he would give anything to be anywhere but there.</p><p>They went down the stone stairs, their path lighted by the warm light from a couple of torches perched on the walls.</p><p>The dungeons had thick stone walls, as the rest of the castle, divided in two sections: a corridor that went left and another to the right, a row of cells at each side of the corridors. Each of the cells had a small opening in the upper part of the wall that allowed the air to flow and prevented the death of the prisoners in winter, when the soldiers used to light braziers to keep themselves warm.</p><p>There was a humid and oppressive stench in the air, which coupled with the smell of sweat and urine from the cells, made Elam wrinkle his nose.</p><p>Sturdy brick walls separated the cells, and each had a set of heavy bars that let the onlooker see inside the cell.</p><p>Most of the cells were occupied. The lords and the officers that had been in the castle that morning were all sitting inside the cells, some cells holding up to five people. As soon as they entered, most of them fixed their eyes on Arslan, observing him as if they would a caged animal of an exotic exposition.</p><p>Elam opened the door of an unoccupied cell for him.</p><p>“Your Highness’ lodging is temporary,” Elam said. The words may have meant to soothe, but the tone was curt and dry. “Your Highness will have to bear with this for the time being.”</p><p>Arslan was still looking at him, as if unsure to make a movement. Elam was holding the door open, and schooled his expression to make sure the prince understood that he’d make him get in the cell, even if he had to use force.</p><p>Arslan’s hands fisted at his sides and entered the cell. All the cells were of the same size, three <em>gazs</em> wide and three <em>gazs</em> long, with a bucket in a corner to relieve themselves and a pile of straw in the other. As he entered, Arslan sat on the straw, wincing when the stiff pointy ends of the fibres prickled his skin.</p><p>“I’ll come back tomorrow to pick Your Highness up,” Elam said. Then he turned to the soldiers and added, “Lord Narsas wants you to keep watch on him all night. Don’t allow anybody to see him.”</p><p>The soldiers nodded and left, Elam throwing Arslan a last look. The prince didn’t notice, as he had moved to place his forehead on his bent knees.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Arslan </strong>
</p><p>It was curious, Arslan thought. It had been years since he was last caged there. After the first time Andragoras had locked him up there as a child, shortly after his mother had died, he’d had always felt a deep apprehension of being cooped up in those humid dark cells, completely alone with his fears and the nightmares that his mind conjured of the darkness.</p><p>As he’d grown, he thought he’d overcome his memories of those terror-filled nights as a child, but his immediate reaction to the dungeons had proven him wrong. Even now, though he knew that nothing lurked in the dark and more people were caged next to him, he couldn’t help feeling sick, as if his innards were trying to knot themselves around his stomach.</p><p>Still, it was better than the dizziness, the quick thumping of his heart and the metallic smell of his sweaty palms against the chains when he had been in front of the <em>framatar</em>. Arslan had heard about the man before. While some said that he was a genius strategist, the key to the Parsian shah many victories, others said that he was like a sly snake, bound to bring misfortune upon Pars. Arslan had even heard whispers of the man getting his position by bedding the shah.</p><p>In their meeting today, Arslan had seen it as clear as the sun: the man was a genius, and his guile was enough to bring down kingdoms. Whether he slept with the shah didn’t matter. The key to whether he’ll bring disasters to his kingdom lied in his loyalty towards it.  </p><p>He sighed, with his arms crossed and his hands gripping his upper arms, trying to fend off the chill that was creeping in his body. He had forgotten how cold the nights got in Kishim, used to the warmth of his room upstairs. His stomach growled softly, reminding him he had eaten nothing since the morning, but he paid it no heed.</p><p>Arslan leant back on the pile of straw, facing the wall, and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the pangs of hunger. He just hoped that at least Jaswant had gotten to Faizabad safely. He had seen no actual damage, corpses or fire while they had been running through the city, so at least he knew that Parsians hadn’t massacred the people.  </p><p>As he lay there, the sound of his name drew his attention to the whispers from the cell in front of his. He recognized the voice of the secretary of the Royal Office and one of the provincial lords. He didn’t open his eyes and stayed there, listening intently to their conversation.</p><p>“… we still don’t know if His Majesty is dead or not,” one of them was saying.</p><p>“The only thing we have is prince Arslan,” the other said resignedly, “and look at him, sleeping at times like these.”</p><p>“They must be keeping him alive for something,” the other insisted, hopeful, “it’d be easier to just kill him if they didn’t have any use for him.”</p><p>“You think they’ll let him live and govern Badakhshan instead of His Majesty?” the voice snickered. “We’d be better off dead then, with a boy like that governing.”</p><p>“It’d be better than some Parsian.”</p><p>“A boy like that would just listen obediently to whatever Parsians say,” the man huffed. “He’s always been like that. Weak. A coward.”</p><p>Arslan didn’t react to the insult. After all, it was the fame he had in the castle, among the <em>wuzurgan<a href="#_ftn3" id="_ftnref3" name="_ftnref3"><strong>[3]</strong></a></em>, and he was aware of it. The other man stayed silent, so the first one continued.</p><p>“I’ve heard that the Parsians’ shah is a beast with the skin of a man,” he said, and there was a silence, probably his companion nodding. “Sindhurans call him <em>shersenani</em>.” </p><p>“What does that mean?” the other murmured.</p><p>“The <em>tiger general</em> or something along that lines,” the voice had taken a low, quavering tone. “They say he needs no army to support him in battle. That he leaps alone on the battlefield, and by himself he can take up a thousand-man army and defeat them all. He holds the title of <em>shergir</em> in Pars—one that has single-handedly defeated a lion.”</p><p>“Well, he’d definitely suffice to defeat this lion,” the other mocked.</p><p>Both of them snickered, loud enough to attract the attention of the guards, who shouted at them to be quiet. They fell silent, so Arslan turned, thinking that he should get some sleep to save his strength for tomorrow, and curling up to have any resemblance of warmth, he tried to sleep.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Arslan</strong>
</p><p>The next morning, Arslan woke up to the sound of keys turning in front of his cell.</p><p>After overhearing the conversation, Arslan had fallen into a fitful sleep, dreaming of blood, screams and whips and waking up during the night because of the cold.</p><p>It was still early in the morning, just a faint ray of light from the air vent, and he felt his stiff neck and joints protesting from the position he had slept in. His fingers and feet also were numbingly cold, so he rubbed his hands, trying to get the blood circulating.</p><p>Elam stood at the door, carrying a tray with a piece of flatbread and a cup of tea. He entered, left the tray at Arslan’s feet and told him to eat it, looking at Arslan as if he was a disobedient dog that had bitten his shoes. Without further words, Elam turned and left.</p><p>Arslan sighed and took the steaming cup of tea in his hands, thanking the warmth that revived his fingers. He looked at the tea, wondering if it’d be poisoned. He then remembered that Parsians abided by the law of executing criminals in public, so he deemed the food safe to eat. As he drank the tea, he noted the spicy note of ginger and the heat that spread through his belly, and wondered if it was a Parsian custom or intentional, that the <em>retak</em> had considered that he might be cold. Though no poison in his food would be enough, Arslan thought.</p><p>He was still munching the last bits of bread when Elam came back with a wash-bowl, a towel, and a water pitcher.</p><p>“Wash yourself and come out once you are ready. Be quick, lord Narsas is waiting for us” he said.</p><p>Arslan nodded, thanked him quietly and hurried with the last bites of his bread, so he missed the strange look Elam threw him. Next, he used the water to clean his face and his arms, wincing when he passed over the bruises and scratches left from the day before.</p><p>As soon as he finished, he followed Elam back to the Royal Office, ignoring the whispers and the glares from the other cells’ occupants. The hallways were still dark, the first rays of sun barely illuminating the walls.</p><p>The sight of Narsas pouring over documents with candles around him welcomed them. Arslan noticed that the <em>framatar</em> had dark circles under his eyes, and that he was still wearing the same clothes as the day before. Surely he hadn’t pulled an all-nighter…?</p><p>“Ah, Your Highness!” Narsas greeted him.</p><p>“Lord <em>framatar.</em>” </p><p>Turning to Elam, both master and <em>retak</em> shared a knowing look, Elam bowing his head slightly. The young man turned towards the hearth and Narsas asked Arslan to take a seat in front of him.</p><p>Arslan waited for a bit, looking curiously at the pile of paperwork Narsas had accumulated next to him. Soon the scratching sound of the quill against the parchment ceased.</p><p>“I have 3 questions for His Highness this morning, and as soon as we finish we’ll meet His Majesty” Narsas said absentmindedly, stretching out his hands. Elam was dutifully pouring sand over his parchment, so he stood, taking a roll placed at the end of the table, and approached Arslan, offering said document.</p><p>“What does Your Highness think of slavery?”</p><p>Arslan took the parchment in his hands and unrolled it: it was the <em>Ghulams’</em> Regulation Act. His old teacher had told him it was a centuries-old law, one of the first passed once there was a defined form of government in Badakhshan. The whole economic system in their kingdom was based on the <em>ghulams</em>, an enslaved caste that supported their nation form its foundation.</p><p>However, living with <em>ghulams</em> and <em>azats</em> since he was young had given him a different point of view, and he guessed that Narsas was pointing in that direction.</p><p>“No human being is born to be a slave,” Arslan said softly. He noticed Elam’s almost imperceptible jolt out of the corner of his eye.</p><p>“Oh?” Narsas said, raising an eyebrow, “why do you think so?”</p><p>“People often say that <em>ghulams</em> are born into their caste, that they belong to it and should never step out of it. But I don’t think they belong to it just because they are born children of <em>ghulams</em>.” Arslan played idly with the parchment, trying to put his thoughts in words appropriately. “If that was the case, children born of <em>azats </em>would never be sold as <em>ghulams</em>, but they are. And <em>ghulams </em>would never raise to the status of freemen.”</p><p>“Almost none can break away from their caste,” Narsas noted.</p><p>“Because the conditions they need to meet are ridiculous,” Arslan huffed, placing the document on Narsas’ hands again. “I suppose lord <em>framatar</em> has read them”.</p><p>Narsas nodded.</p><p>“If I understood it correctly, a female may earn her freedom if she has a child with her owner, and only after the owner dies may she and her children be raised to <em>azats</em>. A male can be freed if an <em>azadan</em>, <em>wuzurgan </em>or <em>wispuhran</em> owns them a life debt or if his owner wishes to free them.”</p><p>“Those conditions are almost never met.”</p><p>Narsas observed him.</p><p>“Your Highness seems to find this terribly unfair.”</p><p>“Of course,” Arslan nodded to the Act, “no one wants to lead a <em>ghulams</em>’ life. However, it’s laughably easy to fall into the <em>ghulams’ </em>caste<em>, </em>yet climbing mount Damavand would be easier than getting out of it.”</p><p>Narsas sighed, but with a satisfied smile on his face. Arslan looked at him intensely, wondering where would all of this talk take them. He’d been as sincere as he could with the man, as he knew how Pars stood in such a debate, and he wholeheartedly believed that they were in the right in this one.</p><p>“My second question is: what is the duty of a ruler?”</p><p>Arslan answered this one immediately.</p><p>“A ruler exists for the sake of the kingdom and its people. If there are no people, there’s no ruler. They both inherently need each other. The people sustain the kingdom, but it’s a ruler’s duty to guide, protect and organize the lives of the people who depend on him.”</p><p>“And what happens to those who don’t meet their duties?”</p><p>After pondering a bit, looking away from the framatar, Arslan said:</p><p>“’<em>A ruler has a heavy duty on his shoulders. If they ever failed to carry them properly, the weight on their failure would bring them down’</em>.”</p><p>He was quoting from <em>Records of Saint King Jamseed</em>, and he paid close attention to how Narsas reacted, widening his eyes with interest. Elam briefly interrupted them by bringing back a tray with tea.</p><p>“Philosophical talk is always a good exercise for the mind, Your Highness,” Narsas said, taking the cup from the tray, the young retak standing next to him “but I’m curious: how does His Highness think that translates into actual consequences?”</p><p>“As a ruler fails, the kingdom fails. If the kingdom fails, there’s no need for a ruler. Usually, death, deposition, exile are all endings for rulers that don’t rise to their duties,” Arslan answered, his stomach churning.</p><p>“Such as to shah Andragoras.”</p><p>Arslan didn’t answer to that, but Narsas looked like he wasn’t expecting him to say anything anyway.</p><p>“Let me be frank, Your Highness. Andragoras is an unfit ruler, deemed so by his own people and retainers, and has lost his position because of it. He’s to be brought to the city, so he can be judged and face the consequences of his atrocious ruling of the last decades. However, ‘<em>a kingdom can’t go by a day without a ruler’</em>. In his place, we will appoint a <em>satrap</em> as the representative of our shah, and 4 <em>dibir</em> will assist in the transition of Badakhshan from its former politics to its new status as a vassal state of Pars. New governors, generals, officers have been appointed to substitute those deposed and the edicts’ will be put into action as soon as our shah gives his approval.”</p><p>He paused, as if letting him digest the information. Arslan thought he had understood before, but this time he felt a clear chill running down his spine. In a single night, this man had completely turned over their government, changing it to one that would be beneficial for Pars. He was both astonished and amazed by his ability, and a small voice in his head lamented that there was no man such as him in Badakhshan.</p><p>He was also more aware than never that Narsas was testing him, daring Arslan to disagree with him. He knew that it’d be most likely the last excuse Narsas needed to try him too and have him executed.</p><p>However, it raised an additional question, one that loomed over his shoulder like a dark shadow. In this new order Narsas had created, there was no place for him. There was no place for a former prince, no post he would fill better than others.</p><p>The sudden lump in his throat surprised him, an unspeakable feeling spreading in his throat to his stomach, at the thought of being cast aside.</p><p> “What is going to happen with me?” he asked, clearing his throat.</p><p>Narsas turned, with his back facing Arslan. Arslan kept his eyes fixed on Narsas’ back. Slowly, he turned and scrutinized Arslan with an intense look in his eyes.</p><p>“That depends on His Highness,” he said finally.</p><p>“How?”</p><p>“It depends on whether His Highness remains the prince of Badakhshan or becomes a useful person for both Pars and Badakhshan. Your Highness shall decide your fate by yourself.”</p><p>The prince looked down, looking at the shackles he wore. He knew, deep in his bones, that he had only one option here, that all Narsas was offering him was the illusion of a choice. For the sake of the people and for his own, he only had one option.</p><p>“I’ll pledge to Pars.”</p><p> </p><p><a href="#_ftnref1" id="_ftn1" name="_ftn1">[1]</a> Dokha is a middle eastern tobacco with high nicotine levels grown in parts of Oman and Hatta, which is smoked through a thin pipe called a medwakh. It is a form of tobacco which is dried up and ground and contains little to no additives excluding spices, fruits, or flowers to enhance smell and flavor.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref2" id="_ftn2" name="_ftn2">[2]</a> Taxes</p><p><a href="#_ftnref3" id="_ftn3" name="_ftn3">[3]</a> Noble caste.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hi! It's been long since I last wrote anything. I've decided to post this, since I've been working on this since April, and I really wanted to share it.<br/>It's not finished yet, so updating times might be irregular, and I'll try to update only if I've 3-4 more chapters written, since I tend to change things as I work out how I want to tell the story, but I have a general outline done.<br/>I've done quite a lot research for this, but if anything is wrong or can be improved, I accept suggestions!<br/>As you may have noticed, the POV will be changing between the scenes, and who is "talking" will be made clear at the beginning of the scene. Though this is going to be a story about Arslan, I don't want him to "tell" his story, but rather how his experiences are perceived by the people around him, so there are going to be fewer scenes with Arslan's POV (I think).  </p><p>You can talk to me in tumblr @evehere!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The contract</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><b>Disclaimer</b>: I don't own Arslan Senki.</p><p>This is based on the events of the manga (currently at ch. 89!)</p><p> <b>Warning: Canon Typical Violence.</b></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chapter 2 </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Framandar Heydar’s report. 14<sup>th</sup> day of the 2<sup>nd</sup> month (Year 325). From the Military Records.</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Under His Majesty’s command, we take the Badakhs by surprise and successfully take over their military base. Shah Andragoras is defeated and captured by His Majesty. The rest of their army is captured by both lord Khwarshed and lord Farhad’s armies, roughly 30,000 men. Some have deserted their army and fled. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>In the 4<sup>th</sup> 1000-man division of marzban lord Khwarshed, we suffer the loss of 16 men and 2 horses, 97 injured, and…</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Marzban Kishwad urgent report for Framatar Narsas. 15<sup>th</sup> day of the 2<sup>nd</sup> month (Year 325). From the Military Records. </strong>
</p><p><em>An upheaval has surged among the surrendered soldiers as news of prince Arslan’s capture has spread. A group of </em>azats<em> and </em>ghulams<em> have tried to kill the soldiers on patrol and enter the palace. Under questioning, they’ve admitted to intend to liberate the prince. Both events have been suppressed and controlled. I advise a more severe guard around the prince.</em></p><p>
  <em>The guards on patrol on the southern gate have been gravely wounded, but we have found no intruder yet. I advise a heavier guard around the palace.</em>
</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Daryun </strong>
</p><p>“Welcome, Your Majesty!”</p><p>Two of the twelve <em>marzbans</em> of Pars, along with every soldier in sight, dropped on one knee with their right hand on their chest and a respectful bow, creating a crimson and silver wave that extended all the way to the end of the camp.</p><p>“Rise!”</p><p>Riding a black stallion, the shah of Pars, Daryun the First, appeared on the road to Kishim, accompanied by <em>marzbans</em> Khwarshed and Farhad. The three of them led 25,000 cavalrymen and 30,000 foot soldiers. Clad in a black armour and cape, with a white breechcloth in the front and a long spear in his right hand, the shah resembled more a hero from the bards’ songs than the shah of the most prosperous kingdom of the continent.</p><p>A soldier on horseback led him to the main tent where Shapur and Kishwad had established the centre of command.</p><p>As soon as he dismounted, he exchanged a forearm grip with Shapur and Kishwad, asking them to update him as he entered the tent.</p><p>They had prepared the tent as an office, with a low table on a thick rug in the centre and a plush chair in front of the entryway where Daryun could receive officers. There was a wide tapestry dividing the room, with Daryun’s resting area set at the other side.    </p><p>The <em>marzbans</em> waited respectfully for their <em>shah</em> to sit at the head of the table.</p><p>“Everything went according to lord Narsas’ plan,” Kishwad said, taking a seat on the rug at Daryun’s right, “we have taken control of the capital, and lord Narsas is currently working in the Royal Office. It looks like the politics in Kishim were a mess, so he has been working since he got here.”</p><p>Daryun took off his helmet as he listened. Without the nasal bar of the helmet, the face of their shah, with its square shaped jaw, narrow eyes and thick eyebrows came to view. He wore his long black hair in a low ponytail, and the heat and the sweat had matted some strands to his forehead.</p><p>“Well, it won’t hurt him to work for once,” Daryun said dryly, “since he left the delightful task of securing the provision’s path to me, that damned…”</p><p>“Truly, lord Narsas has found himself this time with the worst task,” Kishwad chuckled. “He also asked to be in charge of that princeling.”</p><p>“Princeling? Andragoras’ son?” Daryun asked, taking a cup of water from a tray left on the table. He threw a look at Shapur over his cup and found sharp eyes observing him intently. Caught, he turned his gaze back to Kishwad.</p><p>“Yes. An interesting man, if I may say so.”</p><p>“Oh?” Daryun said, raising lightly his eyebrows and setting down the cup.</p><p>“Your Majesty will see,” Kishwad said with a light smile, “I believe lord Narsas is taking him here later.”</p><p>Shapur cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable, and looked at Daryun. The shah felt a distinct dread in his stomach that made his eye twitch.</p><p>“If I may say a word, Your Majesty…” with Daryun’s sign of approval, he continued, “I may repeat myself, but I ask for Your Majesty to offer him a fair trial,” he said, bowing his head deeply. “He saved my brother’s life when I was away and we owe him a great debt of gratitude…”</p><p>“I’m well aware of your brother’s contribution to the success of this campaign,” Daryun said, interrupting him. “I believe Narsas already told you we’d consider your position when deciding how to deal with the prince. Set your mind at ease.”</p><p>He didn’t bother to tell him that Narsas and he had already decided on a course of action regarding the prince. Shapur didn’t need to know.</p><p>Shapur raised his head, with a conflicted look in his eyes and his mouth set in a hard line, although he said no more. Daryun resisted the urge to sigh, and let Kishwad retake the conversation, this time about provisions and the most appropriate time to send a team of hunters to the mountains.</p><p>Both <em>marzbans</em> left soon after, having their own affairs to take care of.</p><p>Once he was alone, Daryun stretched unceremoniously and took off his gloves. Even though they were far away from Ecbatana, his job as shah didn’t get a pause. He had left his uncle Vahriz in charge of the most immediate matters of the kingdom, but the military’s paperwork found its way to his table anyway.</p><p>A few rolls were already placed on the table, and repressing a moan, he got to work.</p><p>***</p><p>Soon after, one of Kishwad’s man entered the tent and knelt on one knee, announcing that the <em>framatar</em> and the prince of Badakhshan were there to see him.</p><p>Daryun got up, grabbed his sword and took position on the chair, reining in his expression to receive the guests.</p><p>First came in his old friend, Narsas, with his irritating smile, and Daryun couldn’t repress a scoff when he saw him. He took note however of the bags and dark circles, and reminded himself to thank him later. Behind his master, close as always, came Elam, holding a thick chain that connected to the handcuffs of a young man.</p><p>Daryun repressed the surprised jolt, but couldn’t help shifting a bit on his chair. By Narsas’ amused smile, he knew that it hadn’t gone unnoticed by the sly man.</p><p>For the son of Andragoras, a colossal man made of muscle and iron, he had expected someone… bulkier. The youth in front of him had a slender built, with long and lean muscles and small hands and feet. The colouring was also wrong, the skin too pale, the striking whiteness of his hair catching his attention to it.</p><p>Even from afar, and though his head was hanging low, he could guess by the soft curve of his jaw and the graceful nose that his face was similarly fine-boned. He frowned as he took in the light tremors that shook his shoulders and the dark bruise on his cheek. Had he tried to evade capture?</p><p>He acknowledged Narsas and Elam’s bows with a gesture of his hand. Narsas stepped up and stood at Daryun’s right side.</p><p>“So you are Andragoras’ son,” he said, his voice neutral.</p><p>The young man went completely still, the tremors stopping at once at his words.</p><p>“Yes,” he answered, keeping his eyes on the floor and managing a respectful half-bow. His voice matched his looks, a soft silvery voice that barely carried to the throne, and his Parsian was almost perfect.  “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”</p><p>Daryun chuckled at the attempt of normality and moved forward on his chair. </p><p>“You are different from what I…”</p><p>A metallic glint caught his attention to his left, and his well-trained instincts kicked in.</p><p>“Elam, down!”</p><p>The startled <em>retak</em> ducked and missed a dagger aimed to his neck by a few hairs. Almost right away, a kick contacted with his side and sent him rolling to the other end of the tent.</p><p>As Daryun took out his own sword, the attacker (a Sindhuran, Daryun noted) was already leaping their way. He engaged with the man, his heart racing, but his body moved instinctively, answering each of his attacks with his own. Daryun heard the prince screaming something, but a good kick distracted him.</p><p>The commotion drew in soldiers from outside. However, his men knew better than to interfere in their fight, so they entered and circled them, leaving no escape route to the assaulter.</p><p>The Sindhuran fought as other Sindhurans Daryun had met in the past. Quick as lightning, relying on speed rather than physical prowess, with the addition of well-aimed kicks that seemed as powerful as a horse kick.</p><p>His eyes glinted, almost gleefully. If the Sindhuran liked to kick, Daryun would give him no space to do so.</p><p>He pressed on, approaching hard and fast so the Sindhuran had no place to escape to, going from defensive to offensive. The sound of the swords crashing and their breaths, the tension in his muscles and the quick beating of his pulse took over Daryun’s senses as he felt into a familiar pattern of moves.</p><p>It took no more than mere moments to have the man subdued on the floor, a soldier approaching quickly to press the man against the floor, both of his wrists held and a knee on his back. The man was still kicking his legs, trying to get the Parsian off his back, but a couple more came forward and held his legs too.</p><p>He looked for Narsas with his eyes, nodding approvingly when he saw him behind them, clasping the prince’s arm with a hand.</p><p>Not even panting, Daryun rose with a scowl on his face, looking down to the man. He recognized his dark eyes and skin as Sindhurans, and the man wore the distinctive turban of the kingdom of the east. There was defiance and fury in the eyes of the attacker, and Daryun scoffed, approaching him with his sword still in his hand.</p><p>“No!”</p><p>A couple of hands closed on his wrist, tugging him back.</p><p>Daryun looked back, ready to retort, and the sight left him breathless.</p><p>The prince had freed himself from Narsas’ hold. He was looking at him, his blue eyes overly bright and a distressed look on his face. Daryun was a good head taller than the young man, and looking down, he noticed that his whole body was on tension, his shoulders tight, the hands on his wrist cold and clammy. He strained to pull him back, though Daryun knew he could shake him off with little effort.</p><p>Some soldiers circled him, drawing their swords, and the Sindhuran shouted from the floor.</p><p>“Your Highness!”</p><p>He spoke Parsian, Daryun noted absentmindedly, with his eyes still locked on the prince. The young man’s throat bobbed up and down, and his voice was quivering when he talked.</p><p>“P-please forgive him. This man is my <em>retak</em>. He… he just wanted to help me,” he said, stammering a bit.</p><p>Daryun came back to his senses, and his scowl deepened.</p><p>“He tried to kill us,” he said curtly.</p><p>“Please!” he begged, falling to his knees and gripping Daryun’s wrist even more tightly. “Please…” the young man seemed to struggle to find his words. “Please let him go. I’m aware of the gravity of his actions, and I’m not trying to beg for your forgiveness. But I’m the reason he attacked you. Since I’m the root of the problem, let me atone for the sin he committed.”</p><p>The prince’s reaction caught him by surprise, his eyes widening. The soldiers stepped forward, but Daryun stopped them by raising a hand.  </p><p>“Don’t, Your Highness!” The man on the floor cried out, followed by the muffled sounds of someone putting a piece of cloth in his mouth.</p><p>For once, Daryun was left speechless and didn’t know how to react for a moment. He was used to people kneeling to him, but the prince wasn’t just anyone! He was a member of the royal family of Badakhshan, and he represented all the people of his kingdom! Wasn’t he aware of the importance of his position, that he knelt so easily?</p><p>Besides, he wasn’t a man swayed by tears or sentimental words, but the honest worry and anguish made him unable to react as he wished to, his hand relaxing its grip on the sword imperceptibly.</p><p>“So you take responsibility for his actions?” Daryun asked, his voice losing its harsh and cold edge.</p><p>The young man stilled at his words and nodded, looking back down to the floor. A scream however interrupted them and made Daryun turn his head towards the Sindhuran, who had given the soldier muffling his mouth a nasty bite in the hand.</p><p>“No, Your Highness!” the man shouted, rising violently, a furious frown on his face. “There’s no need for you to kneel. I, Jaswant, would rather die than let you suffer further humiliation!”</p><p>“Jaswant.”</p><p>A single word and a glance from the prince silenced the <em>retak</em>, who stopped trashing. Jaswant expression shifted from fury, with his eyebrows drawn together and a pained gaze, mouthing “please, no” at his master.</p><p>Narsas and Daryun interchanged a look, and Narsas nodded.</p><p>“We will settle this later,” Daryun concluded.</p><p>He turned, ordering the soldiers to leave the tent, and take Jaswant away as well, with his hands bound. That sparked another attempt to free himself, and the prince looked ready to protest as well, but Daryun raised a hand and placated him.</p><p>“We are just placing him with the rest of the prisoners,” when the young man looked at him indecisively, he added, irritated, “you have my word that my men won’t harm him.”</p><p>Elam had to be took out as well, to the medics’ tent to check if Jaswant’s kick had broken his ribs, so the three of them were left alone again.</p><p>Sighing, Daryun took a seat on the table this time, and told them to sit as well. He almost sneered when the prince sat as far from him as the regular protocols would allow him to.</p><p>“Let us start again,” Daryun sighed. “I am Daryun, shah of Pars.”</p><p>“My name is Arslan, prince of Badakhshan,” Arslan answered, his voice low.</p><p>Arslan… Daryun thought, amused. A lion was the last thing he would think about if he were to compare the princeling to an animal. He’d rather set for something smaller. And softer.</p><p>“That man…” Daryun said, observing the increasing tension in Arslan’s shoulders. “Your <em>retak</em>, you say. He’s a Sindhuran. How did a Sindhuran come to the service of a Badakh prince?”</p><p>“We met a few years ago, when we had a clash with Sindhura. He… had a problem I helped him with and stayed with me out of gratitude ever since.”</p><p><em>And a big damn problem that had to be</em>, Daryun thought, raising his eyebrows. Sindhurans, like Sericans in the far east, valued honour and loyalty over even death. For a Sindhuran to abandon willingly their country and serve a master in a country Sindhura was in war with, there had to be a reason of life and death.</p><p>However, the actual reason wasn’t important for their matter at hand. He tilted his head towards Narsas, allowing him to talk.</p><p>“Your Majesty, I’ve explained the situation to the prince, and he has agreed to collaborate with Pars.” Daryun nodded, he had expected as much since Narsas had brought the prince to him. They had agreed a different course of action in the case the prince didn’t agree to work with them. Narsas turned to the prince and said, “we’d like to offer you an exchange, Your Highness. Your collaboration, for a smooth transition and the avoidance of more bloodshed, in return for your protection.”</p><p>Curious, Daryun turned his head and observed the prince. Now that they had taken away the Sindhuran, there was almost no trace left of his previous outburst, leaving instead a gentle, neutral expression, as he listened intently.</p><p>Daryun mostly tuned out the part in which Narsas explained that they’d require the prince to do, carefully schooling his face into the scowl that Narsas once called “<em>royal displeasure</em>”, and setting in observing the prince’s reactions instead. The prince would have to sign a peace treaty in which he, as the only successor to Badakhshan’s throne, signed away his rights to the crown, and his approval for the changes that needed to be applied on Badakh laws. Pars would instead take Badakhshan as their province, which included protecting the people from poverty and illness, providing them with necessary resources and looking out for them in case of attacks.</p><p>They’d also ask him to write a letter to the remaining general posted at Darwaz, in the southeast mountains of Badakhshan, Javad, informing him of the capital’s situation and asking him to present himself in Kishim.</p><p>“For what purpose?” the prince asked with his brow furrowed. All along, he had sat there placidly, nodding through Narsas’ words until now.</p><p>“We mean no harm to the general’s life,” Narsas explained, “but we’d like him to surrender himself and his troops and to assist in the transition. I’ve heard that general Javad is a sensible man. I’m sure he’ll find our conditions agreeable.”</p><p>He came back to his senses when he noticed that Narsas had turned to him. Shah and <em>framatar</em> looked at each other. Daryun felt a shiver going down his spine: he didn’t like the canny look in his friend’s eyes. He knew that look well, and it rarely bore good news for him.</p><p>“So, in exchange of His Highness’ assistance, we’d like to offer you a <em>harci</em> contract with His Majesty.”</p><p>…</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Daryun was very glad to hear his own question voiced by the prince. He wanted to shake some sense into the head of his friend and yell at him, and only years of practice and trust made him keep his expression and posture.</p><p>This wasn’t what they had agreed to! He didn’t want to marry this young man, thank you very much!</p><p>Yet, Narsas had been with him for <em>years</em>. Even more than a decade. Though Daryun had no hopes of choosing freely his marriage partner, Narsas surely wouldn’t appoint him a marriage with someone he had met the day before, no matter how advantageous it might be? He would at least consult it with Daryun first?</p><p>Maybe… it was an act? For the prince? To make him feel secure so he agreed easily to their terms?</p><p>That had to be it, Daryun concluded. Narsas was deceiving the prince. He almost sighed aloud, thinking that some warning beforehand would have been nice.</p><p>However, Arslan was simply confused, and looked back and forth from Daryun to Narsas, as if sensing that something wasn’t right.</p><p>Daryun took a deep breath and said:</p><p>“Explain.”</p><p>Narsas needed no more clue to understand that he meant to explain to both Arslan and him. Daryun knew better than to question his right-hand man in front of strangers, but Narsas ignored him cheerfully.</p><p>“I suppose Your Highness isn’t familiar with <em>harcis</em>,” Narsas said. Arslan nodded. “In Pars, a person of high status, as any other, can only marry once and have a single wife or husband, known as <em>hamsar</em>. However, they may have multiple secondary spouses, called <em>harcis</em>.”</p><p>“Like a Serican <em>qieshi<a href="#_ftn1" id="_ftnref1" name="_ftnref1"><strong>[1]</strong></a></em>?” Arslan asked, his voice somewhat quiet and strangled now that he was starting to understand.</p><p>“In a very similar fashion, yes,” Narsas nodded. “Just as them, <em>harcis</em> become a part of their spouse’s household, offer their services, and can’t marry another person. A <em>harci</em> takes up the name of their <em>hamsar</em> and is under their protection. However, since a <em>harci</em> is a spouse of lower ranking, the <em>hamsar</em> may take as many <em>harcis</em> as their household allows. Parsian laws state that all the spouses of the same ranking must receive the same treatment.”</p><p>Daryun had noticed how quick the colour had fled from the prince’s cheeks as soon as he had heard the word “services”, and he cursed Narsas under his breath for his wording. However, this marriage wouldn’t come to reality if he had any say on it, so he made no movement to speak on his own behalf.</p><p>“I… I’m afraid I don’t understand exactly what you require of me.”</p><p>“What we’re offering is the protection and support that comes with belonging to His Majesty’s household. You’ll be under his name, with an official title, and you’ll have all your needs taken care of. It does come with certain requirements, since especially <em>harcis</em> of royal households have certain duties in public events. Your Highness doesn’t need to worry, I’m sure Your Highness will be capable of learning them once we get to Ecbatana.”</p><p>Daryun was completely tense by the time Narsas finished. He was just going to retort when the prince asked:</p><p>“So… it’s a marriage?”</p><p>His face was pale, and he was holding the chains so hard that his knuckles were completely white. Daryun could understand his worries: he would be basically selling himself to the invaders that had disrupted his life, maybe even cut short his future ascension to the throne. Which made the idea of him taking the prince back to Ecbatana even more ridiculous, and he resolved to talk about it with Narsas as soon as he could. </p><p>“Yes, and no. Your Highness would marry our shah, but this contract wouldn’t restrict His Majesty if he were to take a primary consort in the future,” Narsas explained. “This is a political exchange, Your Highness. As I’ve said, this is a contract. Once you’ve served a minimum of 2 years in His Majesty’s inner court, we can dissolve this deal at any moment. However, you may not return to Badakhshan, nor you may be the one to request the annulment.”</p><p>“What would I do then?”</p><p>“We’d send His Highness to one of Tishtrya’s temples in Pars.”</p><p>That had been their intention in the beginning, before Narsas made this foolish hoax. They had agreed that they’d send him on the way to the temple, to appease Shapur’s loyalty, and some “accident” or “illness” would inevitably befall him midway.</p><p>In Daryun’s opinion, being spared the humiliation and the public scorn was more than enough mercy for men who betrayed the trust of their people.</p><p>Arslan seemed to be deep in thought, his head hanging low and his gaze fixed on the table between them.</p><p>“And… what does His Majesty think of this?” he asked after a while, stammering.</p><p>His question startled Daryun, and he knew that it must have shown in his face by the way the prince looked at him. Feeling quite uncomfortable, he settled for staying silent instead of answering. After all, to voice his opinion when he wasn’t really planning to marry him would cross a line of dishonesty that he didn’t want to.</p><p>There was a moment of awkward silence between them, which Narsas thankfully cut short.</p><p>“Much more than His Majesty’s opinion, I’d focus on what His Highness wants.” Narsas paused, as if expecting Arslan to answer, but all he met was silence. “I’ll be frank, Your Highness. Your presence anywhere else besides Ecbatana is a threat to our hegemony in Badakhshan. As long as you exist somewhere where you could put a claim on the throne, people will try to use you as an excuse to revolt and regain the control of Kishim. Only if you are in a position that doesn’t allow you to make such claims, there will be no real reason to fight. This is a deal that benefits us both, Your Highness: you can put an end to unnecessary bloodshed even before it starts.”</p><p>Well, this is why Daryun had insisted Narsas to be his <em>framatar. </em>He could already see that his words pierced the prince by the way he tensed his shoulders and fisted his hands on his clothes.</p><p>Besides, Narsas’ arguments always held the advantage of the truth. Daryun would have to ask about it later, but he was sure that his friend must have discovered proofs of such military support if he used that argument against him. If such was the case, all the more reason to avoid leaving such a man alive.</p><p>But there was also a nagging worry in the back of his head, a little voice that wondered about plans that Narsas may or may not have, and that may involve him really marrying the prince. Yet, even if such was the case, he believed that Narsas had his reasons, so he did his bit and added:</p><p>“Pars won’t waste human lives, time and resources in a meaningless campaign. We are going to ensure our control here, one way or another. If forced, we can also do it the hard way and execute you along with your father. Your call.”</p><p>And again, the best argument was the truth. This was a dynamic he had developed long ago with Narsas, and it never failed to work. Narsas would put in his flowery words, telling him how beneficial it would be for the other party to agree, and Daryun presented the other, harsh but pragmatic, option. </p><p>Daryun was a man made on the battlefield. He would never be afraid of killing a man, but he didn’t strike down on fallen enemies, nor he killed men who surrendered. Yet he saw the reasoning behind using public justice and applying it to all men in the kingdom, to ensure that people had a healthy respect for the law.</p><p>Which was why he noted with a hint of surprise that he almost felt bad when the prince jolted and looked at him like a dog kicked by its owner. There was a mixture of fear and caution in his face, an expression he was used to seeing in his enemies’ faces on the battlefield.</p><p>Before he could process the sudden clench in his stomach, Narsas jumped in to soothe his shah’s words.</p><p>“Your Highness doesn’t have to answer right away. You may have a day to think about it.”</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Narsas</strong>
</p><p>Once they finished, Narsas made a slight signal to Daryun, telling him to accompany them. He was feeling in the mood for a little experiment.</p><p>His master had taken the news remarkably well, Narsas thought, very satisfied. He had been thinking about the prince’s arrangement since he had met him last night.</p><p>Arslan had surprised him thoroughly the day before. As far as Narsas and Daryun knew, from what they had got from Shapur, was that the prince was a naïve and kind-hearted young man that lacked the support from the court and the army to make it to the position of Crown Prince. Instead, Andragoras had been looking for a woman to remarry in the last months, clearly planning to have another heir, so Narsas had taken his words as true. No ruler with a suitable, grown-up heir would look for a wife of good standing to produce another child with such haste.</p><p>Yet, Shapur and Narsas had clearly made an inaccurate assessment of the situation.</p><p>The prince was kind-hearted, but there was no naïveté. He was well-versed in the problems that plagued his country, and where he lacked knowledge, there was a good intuition of what was going on. Curious, Narsas had looked at court records, and besides from a couple of recordings of a 15-year-old prince’s participation in the court, there was no more evidence of further political involvement. In one of them, Arslan had suggested to tackle their problem with a pestilence by isolating the patients together, so the doctors could attend them. They had dismissed his suggestion. </p><p>He had also looked into the salt issue and had been pleasantly surprised by the measure taken by the prince, which had been instated without official edict.</p><p>In short, for all Andragoras had been an atrocious ruler, his son didn’t share the same sins. In addition, by the time Narsas concluded that, he also received Kishwad’s report of the attempts to liberate the prince. So, a new idea had brewed in Narsas’ head, which had finished taking form when they arrived at the tent a while before.</p><p>He was just hoping his friend wouldn’t be too stubborn about it.</p><p>With said friend and Arslan in tow, Narsas led them out of the tent. He asked a passing soldier to take them where were the prisoners being held.</p><p>The remaining Badakh soldiers were being detained in the same place. Until they got Javad under their control, they’d have to keep them captive. Narsas hoped that they’d be able to solve the situation soon. Having to feed 30.000 mouths was no easy feat.</p><p>Looking behind him, he noticed how Arslan was checking the jailed people and smiled knowingly. With no need to ask the soldier that had led them here, he could see where was Andragoras.</p><p>The man was a beast among men. All muscle and dark, dense hair, the shah was being held in a bear’s cage, heavily chained and stripped of his armour and weapons. The cage was a couple of <em>gazs<a href="#_ftn2" id="_ftnref2" name="_ftnref2"><strong>[2]</strong></a></em> long and 3 <em>gazs</em> wide, and it still seemed too small to hold the man. They had tied each of his hands to the upper corners of the cage with heavy chains. Narsas hadn’t been there when Daryun had defeated Andragoras, but the excited messenger who had delivered him the news had described it as a clash of war gods on the Earth.</p><p>Narsas had also heard that Daryun had received an ugly cut on the back, but he knew that his friend would never bother to comment on it. That was why he had asked the head doctor to deliver a report to him directly. Said report was most probably waiting for him on his desk.</p><p>The prisoners, Andragoras included, were being held in a heavily guarded part of the camp, with their best soldiers rotating every two hours keeping guard on them. For security’s sake, it would be easier to keep the prince together with the rest of the prisoners, and such a valuable captive demanded the use of their best equipment, Narsas thought.  </p><p>“Can anyone open up the door for one more guest of honour?”</p><p>It was <em>marzban </em>Farhad, a quiet, robust man in his forties, who took out the key. Narsas hummed quietly in approval. Farhad was a calm, steadfast man, as unmovable as a mountain. No one better to keep hold on important things.</p><p>As the door was open, Narsas turned to ask Arslan to join his father in the same jail. However, instead of the same serene man he had seen until then, he met the sight of Daryun holding firmly on to one of Arslan’s arms, with a severe frown on his face. The prince was looking down, his entire body tense as the string of a bow and his feet stubbornly planted on the floor.</p><p>Barely a few nudges from Daryun and the prince entered the bear cage, the tension unyielding in the prince’s shoulders. As soon as he could, Arslan sat in the far corner, away from his father, and Farhad stepped up to close the door.</p><p>Narsas had barely turned when a voice screamed:</p><p>
  <em>“No!”</em>
</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Daryun</strong>
</p><p>There was a strident metallic clang, and a shocked gasp.</p><p>Somehow, Andragoras had broken the chain that held his right hand and was strangling the neck of his son with a single hand. Arslan was trying to pry his father’s hand open with little success, wheezing and thrashing around with his legs.</p><p>“Y-your Majest…”</p><p>A sudden commotion broke out, as Farhad rushed to open up again, and the soldiers on watch rushed, unsheathing their swords, but stopped as they realized the enemy was still caged.</p><p>As soon as he could extend his arm inside of the cage, Daryun took out his dagger and sliced Andragoras’ hand. The man lost his grip around Arslan’s neck, his blood splattering on the floor, and Daryun pulled him out violently, almost throwing him on the floor.</p><p>“Bring me the chains!” he growled, restraining Andragoras’ hand against the cage. However, without his son at a reachable distance, he lost interest in fighting and was just letting Daryun restrain him, the blood flowing down his arm.</p><p>With Andragoras secured again, Daryun stepped out and looked behind him. Arslan was coughing hoarsely, a hand on his chest, with red lines that outlined an enormous hand standing out in his neck. Narsas also looked appalled for a moment, an expression he wasn’t used to seeing on his <em>framatar</em>’s face.</p><p>Several Badakshans soldiers were looking towards them, leaning forward as if trying to get closer. They were crying out something Daryun couldn’t understand, but the concern was clear in their voices and their faces. Among them, Daryun recognized the voice of the Sindhuran <em>retak</em>, the only voice speaking a language he could recognize.</p><p>“Your Highness! Your Highness! Are you okay?”</p><p>Still coughing, to the point of making his eyes tear up, Arslan used the hand Narsas was offering him to propel himself up, and waved a hand at his <em>retak</em>.</p><p>“I’m… I’m okay,” he said, sniffling and wiping his eyes with his sleeve.  </p><p>“Let’s bring His Highness elsewhere,” Narsas said tensely.</p><p>Like that, Daryun and the people around looked at Narsas and Arslan’s backs as they went towards the city. The surrounding guards quickly silenced the ruckus, though most of them kept their eyes fixed on the prince.</p><p>This had been out of his expectations. Shapur had told them before that the shah didn’t like the prince, and that the throne of Badakhshan wouldn’t pass to Arslan, but to a future child.</p><p>However, “dislike” was quite far from “kill on sight” in Daryun’s mind. He had seen the way the veins and tendons were tensed in Andragoras’ arm, and didn’t doubt that he would have just broken the prince’s neck if he had freed his other arm. For a long second, Daryun just wondered what kind of live Arslan had led till then, if Andragoras just lashed out like that at the sight of him.</p><p>When they could no longer see them, Daryun said to Farhad:</p><p>“Have someone take a look at his hand and bring stronger chains.”</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Narsas</strong>
</p><p>It was late in the night when Daryun entered Narsas’ office, without bothering to knock. The shah of Pars had removed his armour and was wearing the black clothes he favoured, a long-sleeved short tunic instead of the sleeveless ones he preferred, a solid proof of the cold weather of the mountains.</p><p>Narsas had been reading the doctor’s report on Daryun’s injury, as well as Elam’s. Even knowing that his friend wouldn’t have been able to ride from Dorah Pass to Kishim if his injuries had been more severe, he felt relieved to know that the doctor had deemed minor too. Elam wasn’t heavily injured either, the Sindhuran’s kick had heavily bruised his ribs, but it hadn’t broken them.</p><p>In fact, his friend must have felt well enough to be angry, as he approached Narsas’ desk in quick strides with an ugly frown on his face. Daryun slammed down the parchment he had been holding in front of him. Narsas raised his head and welcomed his frown with a wide smile.</p><p>“So you were serious?”</p><p>Ah, yes. Narsas had been expecting this.</p><p>“Of course,” he answered merrily.</p><p>“You must have planned it for quite some time, since this is so detailed,” Daryun said, as if he was biting out each word, “and you didn’t bother to tell me.”</p><p>Narsas just smiled even wider, placing his chin on his hands and said:</p><p>“Well, I knew you’d look for me once you saw the contract. It saves me the need of searching you in the camp.”</p><p>“You’re a pest.”</p><p>“I told you years ago I’d be much better suited as your court painter, but you insisted on naming me <em>framatar,</em>” Narsas pointed out.</p><p>Snickering, Daryun pulled closer a nearby chair and took a seat in front of Narsas. He didn’t look tired (it was one of the good points of Daryun’s looks, as it kept the fierce image he had as shah), but the sun had set, and his friend had ridden 5 <em>farsangs</em> in a day to reach Kishim in time. Even for a beast like him, the fatigue was taking its toll.</p><p>“I couldn’t just let you smear Pars culture. Even if I don’t contribute to it, I should at least ensure that it’s transmitted intact to the next generation.” There was a tray with tea, fruits and flat breads placed on a low table next to Narsas’ desk, from where Daryun took an apple, biting into it. He looked pensive when he said, still resentful. “I thought that you were lying to him this morning.”</p><p>Every hard task needed to be tackled eventually, Narsas thought with a sigh. So he just settled back, taking a cup of tea from the tray for himself.</p><p>“The situation differed greatly from what I imagined at first,” Narsas admitted. “Shapur left Kishim six years ago, when the prince was only 13. The situation changed enough that our initial plan wouldn’t have worked out well.”</p><p>Now that they mentioned Shapur, Narsas had to suppress a sigh. The <em>marzban</em> had been at his office earlier in the evening, once he had known that Narsas was in charge of the prince, to request again that they spared Arslan’s life. Narsas had needed all of his willpower to repress the wish to just tell him about the plans he had for the prince, so Shapur stopped pestering both Daryun and him. </p><p>Daryun hummed, still eating.</p><p>“Yeah, I got that by myself. Shapur said that he had no political presence in Badakhshan, and that he had been away for a few years. He’s quite liked by the soldiers for someone who hadn’t been here for long.”</p><p>“He is indeed,” Narsas nodded. “Just last night, a group of commoners armed with shovels and knives and another of leftover soldiers tried both to break into the castle and rescue him. And that <em>retak </em>of his…”</p><p>“Quite the fighter,” Daryun said dryly.</p><p>“A very interesting man,” Narsas corrected. “And he led me to another fascinating story. I had someone interrogate him. It turns out that he infiltrated the city as soon as he heard that we had captured Arslan. He was only out because the prince had ordered him to take the <em>azats </em>and the <em>ghulams</em> out of the castle and to lead them to safety. The castle was almost empty when we arrived.” Narsas’ eyes looked at Daryun expectantly. “Don’t you find this curious?”</p><p>Daryun pondered for a second, but it wasn’t hard to get what was calling Narsas’ attention.</p><p>In an invasion, people try to withstand the siege first, and to flee second. In such short notice, they didn’t have time to close the gates and to defend the city. Besides, no one, much less <em>azats </em>and <em>ghulams,</em> would rush to the gates if the enemy is entering through it.</p><p>He threw an understanding look to his friend.</p><p>“Yet someone had obviously led the service out of the castle, but not out of Kishim. However, that Jaswant had to be out of the city for some reason,” Narsas concluded, as gleeful as a child with a sweet, “but I know he won’t tell us even if we ‘interrogated’ him with the best we have.” Not with his loyalty towards the prince.</p><p>But there was no need for torture. Both Daryun and Narsas had been on these battles for long enough to guess what had happened: probably, under the attack, the prince had ordered his man to go to the southern city of Darwaz, where the last Badakh army laid in wait under general Javad’s command. Thankfully, they wouldn’t have to take care of that problem thanks to Shapur and his brother, but if any other strategist had planned the invasion, it might have been able to put a damp on their plans.</p><p>That had been another pleasant surprise for Narsas. He hadn’t expected a prince that hadn’t been raised to inherit the throne to react so swiftly under such a sudden change.</p><p>“I don’t doubt that the prince has more say in the army than what he lets on, just like he has on that <em>retak</em>. Or maybe he’s just unaware of the power his words would have with the people,” Narsas added thoughtfully.</p><p>“And that’s why you want me to marry him? Because of the army’s support?” Daryun asked, bringing Narsas back from his thoughts.</p><p>Well, it did sting a little that his friend thought that of him. In Daryun’s defence, they had often needed to make hard decisions for the good of Pars, often having to ignore their personal feelings. Narsas set the teacup aside and looked at Daryun head on.</p><p>“There are three reasons I thought it’d be in our best interests to have him as your <em>harci</em>,” Narsas explained. “First, because of what I said to him this morning: we can’t afford to have people using him as an excuse to revolt, not with Badakhshan being as far as it is from Ecbatana.” Seeing that Daryun was opening his mouth to retort, he raised a hand and hurried. “I know, I know, if it was just that, we could just arrange some ‘accident’ to happen. So that brings me to my second point: he’s much more useful alive as a hostage.”</p><p>Narsas let that sink in and noticed instantly when Daryun understood what he was talking about.</p><p>“We talked about this back in Ecbatana,” he said slowly, “you said that if we left Shapur here as <em>marzban</em> appointed in Badakhshan as we intended, we should make sure that his loyalty remained with us. But I thought that you were planning something else for that.”</p><p>True. Shapur had deserted from Badakhshan five years ago, and had left his country to ask the shah of Pars to liberate his people from the suffering they endured under their shah, Andragoras. Back then, Narsas and Daryun had been incredibly wary of him, since what Shapur had done was unprecedented. However, Shapur was an incredibly talented man, a soldier of astonishing courage and honour, gifted in the arts of war and strategy, and Narsas hadn’t been able to suppress his desire to have him working for Pars. Besides, his fame as a man of strict morals and honour had reached Ecbatana, so Narsas and Daryun had given him the benefit of doubt.</p><p>Thus, they had asked Shapur to prove his loyalty and his worth to Pars before they heeded his plead. The man had risen valiantly to the challenge, and had raised frighteningly fast in the army ranks to 1000-man commander, <em>framandar. </em>Then, in their last battles against Turan for the territories they’d lost while Lusitanians had been in power, they had finally instated him as <em>marzban</em> at the death of old man Goshtasb.</p><p>His first petition as <em>marzban</em> had been for Daryun to consider taking Badakhshan under Pars’ wing.</p><p>Naturally, Narsas was sure that the deepest loyalty the man felt was towards Badakhshan. But, as long as Badakhshan’s people thrived and flourished under the Pars’ guidance, Shapur wouldn’t care who he had to serve. Honest and pragmatic men like him were scarce, one of the reasons Narsas had insisted that they should consider employing him.</p><p>The problem had issued from the moment they started talking about how to deal with Andragoras and any heir he had. Though Shapur agreed with them that Andragoras shouldn’t be left alive at any cost, he had fervently defended Arslan from the moment they mentioned him.</p><p>As the wise men said, leave a wolf cub alive today, and you’ll worry about your sheep tomorrow. It really would be most inadvisable to spare Arslan, so Narsas and Daryun had agreed to take care of the problem quietly, away from Shapur’s eyes, as he’d hate to lose Shapur’s loyalty and the faith of his men.</p><p>But he had wanted to meet the prince that had inspired such devotion in a general when he was barely 13, half-expecting a corrupted royal since he had grown up in a depraved court. Still, the prince had broken his expectations and had provided the answer to other issues Narsas was dealing with.</p><p>“<em>To build a dam is the lesser strategy when faced with the possibility of changing a river’s course. </em>The lesser strategy in this case is to look for another way to keep Shapur under control. However, with the prince, we can keep Shapur, and all those people who are loyal to him controlled,” Narsas said. “If a revolt here might lead to their beloved prince losing his life far away from here, they’d be much less up to it.”</p><p>Initially, Narsas had planned to promote Shapur’s brother to some military post placed at Ecbatana, since Shapur was going to stay in Kishim as a military representative. By keeping the brothers apart, he could ensure Shapur’s loyalty.</p><p>Using the prince as hostage would be equally effective. Shapur had told them that Arslan had saved his brother’s life once. Thus, he owed the prince a life debt, and Shapur’s honour would bind him to protect the prince’s life as well. With his new plan, it would actually help him if Shapur’s brother was constantly next to him, so his presence reminded the <em>marzban</em> of the debt they owed to the prince.</p><p>Daryun said nothing, but he didn’t need to. Narsas knew his friend well and could see his grudging agreement through his silence.</p><p>“And I suppose that you find most delightful that it’d actually solve my supposed ‘predicament’, don’t you?” Daryun huffed.</p><p>Narsas raised his eyebrows.</p><p>“Oh, of course not, it’s completely <em>unrelated,</em>” the sceptical look he got from Daryun made him laugh, and he said, half in jest, “but I’m sure you know that people talk about your lack of interest in partners of any kind.”</p><p>“I get by just fine,” Daryun muttered.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, I know, and I thank you for sparing me the need to pick up after you, but as I told you, just some people at your service would be beneficial for your image,” heck, even old man Manuchehr had a <em>harci </em>in his household besides his wife. “Prince Arslan just meets all the requirements: good social standing, a proper education, peerless beauty…” Narsas had met many people in his life and he was sure that only a handful of them could compete with the prince in terms of looks. He peered at Daryun when he said it, trying to see if he could get some reaction out of him, but was met with a deadpan expression, “and, most importantly, lack of shrewd ambition.”</p><p>Unsurprisingly, he was met with Daryun’s incredulous puff.</p><p>“And how would you know that, having met him yesterday?” he asked, sincerely curious.</p><p>Narsas just smiled smugly.</p><p>“How little faith you have in your <em>framatar</em>, my friend,” he said good-naturedly. “It’s easy. Just think of how he got by these years. Andragoras doesn’t treat him kindly. Most nobles, from what I know, mocker him out in the open. But he’s popular among the <em>azadan, </em>the<em> azats </em>and the<em> ghulams</em>, and has enough wits to be decent at politics.” Calling him ‘decent’ was a high praise coming from a seasoned man like Narsas, and Daryun knew it, based on how he raised his eyebrows. “If he ever wished to get revenge on his father’s treatment, or simply hold more power, he could have easily pulled the strings among the <em>azadan</em> and get some political footing.”</p><p>Andragoras’ attack had left Narsas dazed and appalled, feelings he didn’t have often. It wasn’t often that he witnessed such treatment from a parent to a child, but it never failed to make him feel cold inside. It had made him feel even more determined about carrying on with his plan.</p><p>The worst thing that could happen would be that Daryun didn’t like Arslan and showed him no favour, which would leave Daryun with a <em>harci</em> only in name. But Arslan would be <em>alive</em>. Narsas didn’t think that he could now order his execution without remorse. And he didn’t want to be a remorseless man, one who could kill an innocent, pure-hearted young man just to protect their interests.</p><p>He was aware of the fact that sometimes the death of one prevented the deaths of thousands. He was just thankful that it wouldn’t be necessary in this case. Why resort to murder and bloodshed when he could design a better strategy? </p><p>“And yet he didn’t,” Daryun muttered, as if talking to himself. His words also brought Narsas back to the conversation.</p><p>“And yet he didn’t” Narsas repeated. Then, he took a deep breath and said, “poor thing.”</p><p>Daryun raised his head at looked at him interrogatively.</p><p>“It’s a pity that the reward he gets for his good-nature and compassion is to marry an invader or to die by the invaders’ hand.”</p><p>Daryun raised quick as a lightning and opened his mouth to retort, but was stopped short by Narsas’ next words.</p><p>“You know what we would have to do.”</p><p>Daryun looked extremely conflicted.</p><p>“But he’s so young,” he murmured.</p><p>“Of age,” Narsas replied.</p><p>“What if he has…?”</p><p>“He has no lover, no betrothed, no spouse that we know of,” Narsas interrupted him.</p><p>They fell silent, Narsas letting his friend digest the information. He knew that he could count on Daryun’s own brand of compassion to make him feel the injustice that Arslan’s death would be. He didn’t wish to impose the marriage on his friend, but he needed to understand what they’d have to do if he refused.</p><p>Besides, he really found the arrangement highly advantageous. What kind of ruler didn’t have any women or men at their service? In the same way Narsas had told him long ago that crowns, royal attires and armours helped him to create an image of superiority among both friends and foes, a person to attend him (and even more so a former prince) would also contribute to his friend’s fierce and imperial image.</p><p>However, other polygamous countries, like Sindhura and Serica, had a long history of harems and <em>hougongs</em> destroying empires and bringing down royal lines and dynasties. Narsas was very aware of it, which was why he chose the prince: he doubted that Arslan would be capable, or even willing, to create trouble and to scheme for power.</p><p>“To hold a stable inner court, monogamy is preferred,” Narsas sighed. He had told Daryun early in his reign, but it turned out that he didn’t need to: his friend wasn’t like other rulers, always chasing skirts and shrinking from his duties for hedonist pleasures. “But since it’d be best if there was someone in your inner court, we need to keep our grip in Kishim and he is likely to stay away from Pars political arena, I think prince Arslan the best option we have. Once we have established ourselves in Kishim, you may release him with a compensation and move him to Tishtrya’s temple, or even keep him until you take an official <em>hamsaram<a href="#_ftn3" id="_ftnref3" name="_ftnref3"><strong>[3]</strong></a></em>,” Narsas said softly, trying to convince his friend. He observed as Daryun sat down again and served himself a cup of tea with a frustrated expression, and said merrily, “unless, of course, you wish to take him as your consort.”</p><p>Daryun choked on the tea.</p><p>“W-What?” he said, coughing furiously and bringing a napkin to his mouth. “Are you mad?” </p><p>Narsas, meanwhile, just laughed gleefully at him. So he hadn’t been that mistaken after all.</p><p>“Why not?” Narsas asked, teasingly. “Prince Arslan is of royal line, educated, and has stunning looks. All the advantages of him being a <em>harci</em> also apply to him being your consort, with the added convenience of all marriage talks being permanently erased from your meetings and banquets.”</p><p>Daryun shot him an irritated glare. Narsas knew how much it annoyed him to receive endless portraits of young men and women from all over the continent, nobles and royalty trying to get a member of their families in his household. He made sure to tease him often, so he didn’t forget it.  </p><p>“I’ve no such interest,” Daryun said finally, still looking aggravated. He then shot another look at Narsas, saying resentfully, “if it’s so advantageous, you could marry him yourself. <em>Harci</em> of the <em>framatar </em>of Pars is only one step below being my <em>harci</em>”.</p><p>“Oh, no,” Narsas laughs, “one doesn’t get this far with his shah without learning to read their mood. You desire him, you have him. Pars still needs my abilities after all.”</p><p>This time Daryun wasn’t drinking anything, so he sputtered something unintelligible indignantly, rose and left as swift as a hurricane, his hands fisted tightly, leaving behind the ringing sound of Narsas’ laughter.</p><p> </p><p><a href="#_ftnref1" id="_ftn1" name="_ftn1">[1]</a> <em>Qieshi </em>means ‘concubine’ in Chinese. From what I know, Serica, in both the novel and the manga, is China, set around Tang Dynasty, so I’m going with that setting.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref2" id="_ftn2" name="_ftn2">[2]</a> <em>Gaz: </em>a meter</p><p><a href="#_ftnref3" id="_ftn3" name="_ftn3">[3]</a> Spouse</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Happy 2021!</p><p>This chapter is my a New Year gift (≧◡≦) I hope you like it! </p><p>Here we have Daryun's entrance! I hope you all liked it! The poor man is shocked. Like: I just came back from war! I'm injured! You can't throw a betrothal to me now! Hopefully he'll start to change once he gets to know Arslan better. </p><p>I'm going to try to stay canon (manga canon that is) with Turan and Sindhura, and I'm assuming a Tang Dynasty China for Serica, for those who are wondering. However, I don't have enough info about how things worked in Pars, at the level of detail I need, and most is made up/taken from other sources so it works with my story. Also, I'm not sure, but I'm almost confident that harems and concubines were canon too (at least in Sindhura, I think). </p><p>In this story, I think both Narsas and Daryun would be much more 'manipulative' than they were in canon. First, because there was no 'good' influence, they don't meet Arslan until much later, and second because Pars was in a much worse state when Daryun inherited than in the beginning of Arslan Senki. </p><p>However, that doesn't mean I won't try to keep them in line with what I think would have happened with canon!Daryun and canon!Narsas in a different context.</p><p>By the way, I try to add the necessary footnotes and warnings at the notes in the beginning, but if I ever miss anything or you'd like me to add a tag, you're welcome to tell me!</p><p>And last, but not least, I'll try to have a regular updating schedule! Once every two weeks. It may be changed to once every three weeks, or once every month depending on the amount of chapters I've in stock and how busy I am. I aim to have an arc almost finished if I'm posting once every two weeks. </p><p>So, right now, the next update will be: January 17th. See you then!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Andragoras</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I do not own Arslan Senki. </p><p>This is based on the events of the manga (up to ch. 89 now!)</p><p> </p><p><strong>Warning: mentions of past abuse. </strong> If needed, skip the last scene (2nd Daryun POV).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chapter 3 </strong>
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  <strong>Framandar Heydar’s report. 16<sup>th</sup> day of the 2<sup>nd</sup> month (Year 325). From the Military Records.</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>As per framatar lord Narsas’ order, marzban lord Khwarshed oversees the confiscation of the weapons and military resources of Kishim, to be kept by our army until new order, and the registration of azadan, azats and ghulams in Kishim. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The deserters found in the city are taken under custody. We meet no resistance in the completion of our duties. </em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Betrothal contract between Badakhshan and Pars. Year 325. From the Royal Secretariat of Pars. </strong>
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  <em>“I, the Royal Highness Prince Arslan of Badakhshan, agree to provide Pars my collaboration in the process of transition of the Province of Badakhshan. I will provide all the information necessary and I will not hinder the transition, nor myself nor my proxies. (…) If this party ever breaks this contract, I agree to be judged and punished by the Parsian laws. This is effective as I sign. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I, the Royal Majesty shah Daryun the First of Pars, shergir, general of the Royal Army of Ecbatana, liberator of Maryam, agree to take His Royal Highness Prince Arslan of Badakhshan into my household as first-rank harci as a reward for his collaboration with Pars, to be honoured and respected as his status deserves. (…)”</em>
</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Daryun</strong>
</p><p>Next morning, Daryun met Narsas in the Royal Office for breakfast. They’d meet Arslan first thing in the morning too, so the prince would give them his answer. For some reason, Daryun had felt very irked when Elam had taken the trouble to inform him as soon as he arrived that Arslan had spent the last night in the castle’s dungeon again and that a doctor had deemed his injuries superficial.</p><p>He supposed he’d have to pay attention to these things if he was going to marry the prince.</p><p>Last night, after retiring to his tent, he had thought long about the plan his friend had proposed to him.</p><p>He only needed to marry and take him in, right? No big deal.</p><p>He could do it. Just bring the prince back to Ecbatana and assign him a room in the living quarters. No one would actually force him to sleep with him or to spend his nights at his room, he knew that much. The palace’s finances would have no trouble to afford the cost of the daily expenses of the prince and whatever servants he brought along. He could have him appear with him at official events, in which he needn’t talk to him.</p><p>Thinking about it objectively had made him realise that he had no reason to refuse the marriage. It wasn’t as if he had plans to marry anyone yet, and his household remained empty so far. If he took a consort in the future, the prince’s presence might be a problem, but he could always cross that bridge later. Narsas had mentioned that the prince only needed to stay for two years, and he wasn’t planning to get married in the next two years.</p><p>No big deal. Nothing to do with the fact that he had been ignoring pointedly his friend’s last words in their conversation.</p><p>He got to office annoyingly flustered. He tried to calm down, but he knew by the smirk on Narsas’ face that he didn’t look as untroubled as he wanted.</p><p>Daryun wasn’t used to beating around the bush. As soon as he got settled in front of Narsas, he said:</p><p>“I will marry him.”</p><p>“Good,” was Narsas’ only answer.</p><p>Daryun scoffed. Of course his friend wouldn’t even try to look surprised.</p><p>“I meant to ask you yesterday, but you distracted me with your nonsense,” Daryun shot him another glare, but Narsas was unmoved, still tearing a flat bread leisurely, “what’s the matter with Andragoras? I’ve seen parents with a cold attitude before, but that level of animosity is…”</p><p>Unprecedented, he wanted to say. Especially towards who, at first, would be the heir to his throne.</p><p>Narsas nodded, also looking pensive. Daryun had noticed yesterday that Andragoras’ outburst had unsettled his friend and left him disturbed, a rare occurrence for the man.</p><p>“I asked around a bit,” meaning that he had probably dug up enough information to trace Arslan’s background to 3 generations before, “and it turns out that prince Arslan is most likely another man’s child.”</p><p>Daryun’s gaze shot up from the plates to his friend’s face, startled. But after an initial shock, it didn’t surprise him so much after all. Cases of infidelity weren’t uncommon in the nobility.</p><p>“How come?” Daryun asked after a beat.</p><p>“At first Andragoras was just a Badakh general serving the late shah. He got the throne as a bonus when he killed the previous shah to marry his queen,” Daryun raised his eyebrows so high that Narsas couldn’t help but snicker at him, “yes, it was a crime of passion. The late queen Tahamenay was said to be so beautiful that men killed each other for the sake of a second glimpse of her face. No wonder where the prince got the looks from.”</p><p>With this, it was easy for Daryun to come to the logic conclusion.</p><p>“So the prince is the previous shah’ son?” he asked with his brow furrowed.</p><p>“He was born eight months after Andragoras took Tahamenay as his wife, so it’s likely that such is the case.”</p><p>Daryun nodded absentmindedly. Elam, ever present at Narsas’ side, presented him with a cup of tea and said:</p><p>“When I asked the <em>azats </em>in the city, some said that Andragoras has always been cold to the prince when he was young. When the queen passed away ten years ago, the prince spent a few years in another place, though they didn’t know where, and came back five years ago.”</p><p>It wasn’t hard to picture that probably the queen had been the only obstacle that deterred Andragoras from killing the spawn of the previous ruler. Ten years… so the prince was still a child when his mother had died, and someone had had the good sense to take him away before Andragoras turned his eyes on him, for he wasn’t the kind of man who didn’t kill children for the sake of their age.</p><p>Although Daryun wondered why the prince had come back, he was even more interested in why Andragoras hadn’t killed him on the spot. He hadn’t seen a lack of killing intent when the man had tried to strangle the prince the day before.</p><p>Before he could voice the question, Narsas explained it for him.</p><p>“It seems that the late queen’s last wish what has kept the prince alive all these years. She asked the shah to raise his son until he was twenty years old,” Narsas paused with a grimace, “if you can say that ‘not murdering’ is the same as ‘raising’.”</p><p> “Does he know of this?”</p><p>“Most likely. Andragoras doesn’t even let the prince call him ‘father’.”</p><p>Andragoras must have been immensely infatuated with Tahamenay, Daryun thought, if he had allowed the prince to grow up. It made sense then, that for the last few months he had been looking for a new wife. To name Tahamenay’s son as Crown Prince was simply impossible, because he didn’t think of him as his son.</p><p>Besides, he could only wonder if Tahamenay’s request had really stalled his hand. Daryun remembered clearly the violence of Andragoras’ reaction, and the force he had exerted on the prince’s neck. The prince had stayed alive all this years, which was more than what Daryun would have expected.</p><p>Andragoras had once wiped out an entire village when he lost the territory to Turan in a battle. That was the ‘compassion’ and ‘kindness’ they could expect from him.  </p><p>Daryun was lost in his thoughts, so he missed Narsas taking out a metallic piece from his sleeve and placing it on top of the table. At the slight clang, Daryun looked at Narsas in inquiry. In return, Narsas pointed at the thing placed on the table between them. Curiously, Daryun took it in his hands. It looked like a metal weight, like those used by merchants to weigh their products.</p><p>“What is this?”</p><p>“The product of the prince’s efforts,” Narsas said, taking the weight back from Daryun’s hands. “Yesterday, the prince told me he had noticed irregularities in the salt’s commerce dealt by the priests and that ‘he had been working on it’. I was curious about what he thought he could do with the little power he has in the court, so I asked that Sindhuran of his. And this was his answer.”</p><p>Daryun didn’t know where his friend was getting with it, but he could tell that Narsas felt impressed. The prince had a knack at surprising his friend, a formidable feat in the face of Narsas worldly knowledge. He frowned at the churning of his stomach, wondering if the foreign food was getting to him.</p><p>“As a result of his worry about the health of the people who were buying salt tampered with sand, the prince designed this little weight. He noticed that a sack of sand and another of salt differs in weight, so, using the official package of the salt as reference, he asked the blacksmiths to design a metal weight that has the same weight as a bag of salt. Its use is spreading among the people in the mountains.”</p><p>It suddenly occurred to Daryun that he had been sorely mistaken about the young man. As Narsas, he had expected a pampered, arrogant and aggressive man, worthy of being the son of a man like Andragoras. Now, knowing his background, Daryun would have expected a bitter, revengeful young man. Instead, they met with a gentle, compassionate prince who did what he could to help the people around him. The salt problem was quite far from the issues the prince would encounter in his daily life, and yet he had gone out of his way to try to devise a way to help the people who were affected by it.</p><p>What was more, Daryun was starting to feel uncomfortable with forcing the marriage onto someone young and uninvolved like the prince. Life in the palace mustn’t have gone easy on him. Daryun had seen enough people of “noble” birth running away and wash his hands of their kingdom, but Arslan had stayed and had tried to help.</p><p>“Are you still sure about this?” Daryun asked in a low voice.</p><p>“Yes,” Narsas answered on the spot, leaving no room for hesitation. “I still think it’s the safer course of action for us and for him. If we let him roam as he pleased or took him to the temple, eventually we’d face some kind of conflict regarding his right to inherit. Or maybe his own heart will change and he’ll want to lead his people by himself. In either case, we’d have no other option than to cut his head off. Better remove any kind of hope now and prevent the sorrow tomorrow.”</p><p>Daryun sat there in a disgruntled silence, agreeing silently with his friend. He knew all of this; it was just difficult for him to accept it as readily as his friend. For a moment, he felt a flash of annoyance at his friend’s detached response to the situation.</p><p>“You know I would never force you to spend your entire life with someone you didn’t like,” Narsas said, his tone so sober that Daryun turned. “It’s only because this deal is reversible and wouldn’t actually hinder you to marry in the future that I consider it the best course of action.”</p><p>About time his friend said something like that. Daryun should leave him there to wonder if he had hurt his feelings, but found himself too tired for that.</p><p>“I know.” A sigh. The next words spilled from his mouth almost without him wanting to. “What would you do if he just chose death over marrying me?” he said behind his teeth.</p><p>Death didn’t always come by the hands of others after all.</p><p>“Oh, he won’t,” Narsas said, full of confidence, so much that Daryun wanted to shake his friend to see if he’d change his expression. “He’s a sensible man, he won’t choose death when he knows that his life can still be useful.”</p><p>Disgruntled, Daryun stuffed his mouth with the flat bread angrily.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Narsas</strong>
</p><p>The meeting went as smoothly as he had expected.</p><p>After the initial shock of seeing the angry red and purple patches in the prince’s neck like an unsightly collar, of course. He had known the day before, judging from the hand print that Andragoras had left, that the injury was likely to bruise, but it was a whole different thing to see it. The bruise on his cheekbone had also taken a yellowish colour.</p><p>By the sudden hardening in Daryun’s gaze, it seemed as he had noticed as well. It also didn’t escape Narsas how the prince’s raspy voice greeting them both startled his friend.</p><p>Narsas felt grateful for preparing both of the documents needed before the prince had arrived. He doubted he’d have avoided faltering at the sight of the prince. One of them was a peace treaty that signed Badakhshan as Pars’ province, and the other the contract for the prince’s betrothal. </p><p>As the only remaining Badakh <em>wispuhran<a href="#_ftn1" id="_ftnref1" name="_ftnref1"><strong>[1]</strong></a></em>, prince Arslan’s signature would effectively represent the kingdom in the treaty. After his conversation with him the first night, Narsas had been worried that Andragoras had taken the measure of barring Arslan’s authority. He had had to double check the orders the shah had given about his “son” since Arslan had been born to make sure the prince’s signature would be legal and binding. </p><p>Thankfully, Narsas’ sigh after his investigation had been of relief. Andragoras had forbidden Arslan to take part of the morning court and military affairs a couple of years ago, but that had been all.</p><p>No more words had been needed, and as he had guessed, the prince seemed to have made up his mind the past night. After carefully reading it, he had quietly requested a quill and ink to sign on to the three copies of the documents: one for Badakhshan, another for the Royal Secretariat of Pars, and a last copy for Narsas.</p><p>Just as a safeguard.</p><p>Narsas had made sure that the contract would look somewhat appeasing to a prince marrying to a foreign place far away. He would marry as Prince of Badakhshan, though any kind of political or military authority would now belong to the Parsian <em>satrap</em> who would govern Badakhshan in the shah’s stead. He wouldn’t be able to hold any title with military or political significance, but the Household Department of Ecbatana’s palace would take care of his needs, such as food, clothing, living place, and they would allow him to keep and manage whatever dowry he brought into the marriage. </p><p>Moreover, he had remembered to include an amnesty for the prince’s <em>retak</em>, and to promise a full pardon for all the remaining Badakh soldiers, just to make the prince feel better. As he had guessed, as he pointed those clauses to him, a tension in the prince’s shoulders that he hadn’t noticed at first seemed to melt away. Strictly speaking, those clauses were redundant, as the Parsian laws would only be enacted once the prince signed the transfer of the ruling rights. But the prince didn’t need to know.</p><p>The signing of the treaty and Arslan’s contract finished with Narsas and Daryun also leaving their signatures on the paper, and Daryun using the royal seal on his ring to stamp the documents.</p><p>The solid, wooden thump of the seal on the parchment marked the prince’s fate. The neutral indifference on the prince’s face revealed nothing of what he thought about his impending marriage to the shah of the most powerful country in the continent.</p><p>Narsas had picked the first day of the fourth month as the ceremony date. It would be nice with the flowers in bloom and the summer breeze.</p><p>Then he set a clean parchment in front of the prince, requesting him to write a letter for Javad. Unsurprisingly, the prince had requested to know what he should write.</p><p>“Your Highness is free to write whatever you want,” Narsas said, smiling, “though I’ll be checking the content before I send the letter. If I may give you an advice, Your Highness should tell general Javad about our treaty and that Parsians haven’t harmed you,” he said, looking pointedly at the prince’s neck. “You may also inform him that <em>marzban</em> Shapur stands with us and is back at Kishim,” Narsas added, observing and measuring carefully the prince’s reaction.</p><p>The honest and open joy he perceived in the prince’s small but sincere smile and the brightening of his eyes were both expected and surprising. He knew that the prince and Shapur were acquainted with each other, and must have had gotten along well for the <em>marzban</em> to protect the prince so fervently. However, years had passed since the prince and the <em>marzban </em>saw each other for the last time, and he hadn’t expected the prince to be so welcoming of someone who could be, by all means, considered a traitor in Badakhshan.</p><p>How naïve, Narsas thought. Here it was the naïveté he had expected. Shapur had been away for years, and even though he was a man of strict morals when the young man had met him in his youth, people <em>changed</em>. Maybe the man was now completely loyal to them. How could the prince simply <em>trust</em> him?</p><p>“So he made it after all…” the prince murmured, the quill stopping over the parchment and dripping a big drop of ink over the parchment.</p><p>With a low squeal, the prince tried to clean it, but only spread it further in his haste.</p><p>Narsas just smiled serenely and extended another parchment for him. As Arslan took it with an apologetic smile, they both jolted at Daryun’s sudden remark:</p><p>“Stop wasting time and get to it,” he said sternly, his face darkened by a scowl.  </p><p>Narsas kept his smile carefully schooled in his face, but internally groaned at his friend. He’d have sworn that Daryun was warming up to the prince that morning.  What a pleasant start of their relationship, he thought as he watched the prince’s startled expression and return to the letter. A strange flash crossed Arslan’s eyes just before they were out of Narsas’ vision.</p><p>As Arslan finished writing the letter, Narsas took it and scanned it superficially. The content seemed adequate enough, though he’d have to check later for any sign of a concealed request for help or rescue. He took a moment to appreciate the prince’s handwriting, the elegant and precise strokes stark clear in the parchment.</p><p>He gave a nod of approval and Elam took it from his hands for safekeeping.</p><p>“Now that His Highness is officially betrothed to our shah, it would be unsightly to let His Highness return to the dungeons,” Narsas said amicably. “We’ll be moving Your Highness to a room in the upper floors. I’m afraid we couldn’t find Your Highness’ room, and without a security check, we can’t let Your Highness go back to his own room. Of course, we will arrange a time for His Highness to recover his belongings.”</p><p>That had been funny, Narsas thought. None of the people remaining in the castle, mostly noblemen, could point out where the prince’s quarters were. Once the working <em>azats</em> and <em>ghulams</em> came back to the castle, he would have to ask them.</p><p>To this, Arslan nodded.</p><p>“I intend to offer my full cooperation, lord <em>framatar, </em>so I’ll do as you say. However, I must assure you I won’t escape,” the prince said, his voice carrying sure and steady. “I fully intend to stay and make sure that Pars fulfil their end of the treaty.”</p><p>This shouldn’t surprise him anymore, Narsas thought, a warm feeling of fondness when he heard his words. The boy reminded him of Daryun in his earnestness. He briefly wondered what this boy would have offered if he had wanted Narsas to serve him. A pity that his loyalty would always be with Daryun first, too many years of trust and friendship for a newcomer to replace easily.</p><p>Daryun, next to him, made no move, but the line of his mouth didn’t seem as tight anymore.</p><p>“And since my <em>retak</em>, like the soldiers, is going to be pardoned, may I request to see him?” The prince asked, his voice tight.</p><p>“I can arrange it,” Narsas agreed readily. The prince looked at him with a hint of surprise in his gaze, making Narsas chuckle. Had the prince really thought they would keep him locked away? He would have the townspeople banging on their doors with torches and knives before he knew it. “Though someone will have to oversee the meeting. Speaking of which, we have appointed a bodyguard for His Highness, a small measure for your security,” Narsas added. “His Highness must be always accompanied by him. Jimsa!” </p><p>A young man, wearing the Parsian armour, entered the room. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man, but with a round and youthful face and a confident smile plastered on his face. Daryun had brought him back from Turan after saving his life a few years ago, and the man had earned their trust. Narsas had informed him he’d have to “play nursemaid” for a while, and he had agreed readily.</p><p>“My name is Jimsa, Your Highness!” he exclaimed, placing a knee on the floor. “I’ll be in charge of your security!” </p><p>To Narsas’ surprise, Arslan raised and held his arm to help Jimsa straighten himself.</p><p>“No need for such formalities,” Arslan said, smiling softly. “I’m Arslan, prince of Badakhshan.”</p><p>Narsas chuckled. Jimsa had that quality to him that made people relax around him. It may help Arslan feel more at ease, or Jimsa’s easy-going nature may lead him to reveal his tricks… if he had them, which Narsas doubted greatly. Anyway, whatever the prince did wouldn’t escape Jimsa’s sharp eyes, which made him perfect for the work.</p><p>“I have organised a public announcement of Your Highness’ betrothal to His Majesty. Elam will bring your attire and will help His Highness prepare.”</p><p>They’d need the prince to appear next to Daryun, so the people didn’t get the wrong idea of their prince being physically forced into the marriage. They just needed to know that the prince had been forced out of his worry and desire to protect his people.    </p><p>There was a delicate balance between letting the people know that the prince would be in their hands, and that any mistake from their part may lead to him suffering the consequences, and the prince keeping enough “dignity” and honour so his people didn’t riot in his name. It was just perfect that Narsas liked a good challenge.</p><p>“Thanks,” Arslan said. He had probably expected as much.</p><p>He asked Jimsa to take the prince away to his new lodging and turned to Daryun, who seemed to be in a daze, his gaze fixed on the closed doors.</p><p>Narsas couldn’t help to sigh.</p><p>***</p><p>The next meeting Narsas had arranged was between them and the four of their twelve <em>marzbans </em>that had accompanied them to this campaign. Shapur was, by far, the youngest of them, though Kishwad wasn’t much older. His first son had been born a few months before. Khwarshed, in charge of managing the camp they had set outside Kishim, was a man in his fifth decade, the oldest of the group, and would soon have a grandchild.</p><p>Since each of them had their respective duties, Narsas lost no time in niceties and explained the treaty they had just signed with Arslan.</p><p>Then, keeping a discreet eye on Shapur’s reaction, he told them about the betrothal, just telling them that Arslan had agreed to be Daryun’s <em>harci</em> in exchange of a peaceful government in Badakhshan and his protection.</p><p>“Congratulations, Your Majesty,” said Khwarshed. He himself had a wife and several <em>harcis</em>, male and female.</p><p>He was the only one who looked actually glad at the deal. Farhad’s expression told him he couldn’t care less about the matter, and Kishwad looked slightly troubled by the thought.</p><p>Shapur, on the other hand, from his initial thunderstruck expression moved to a barely concealed rage. He reminded Narsas of a boiling teapot threatening to spill at any moment, his face dangerously red.</p><p>“His Highness agreed to this?” he said behind his teeth.</p><p>“Yes, of course,” Narsas looked at him blankly, showing him a copy of the contract. “Prince Arslan signed it this morning.”</p><p>“And I assume no one was holding a knife to his throat?” The man said dryly.</p><p>His tone made the rest of the people present look at him with disapproval.</p><p>“Don’t be daft, boy,” Khwarshed said, laying back on the chair. “Why wouldn’t he agree? Marrying His Majesty will solve all of his problems. What could he do if he refused?” he asked, as if explaining that two and two made four. “It was time anyway that His Majesty took someone into his household. It’s not healthy to spend so many years alone.”</p><p>Narsas could see in the popping vein in Daryun’s forehead that the patronising tone in Khwarshed’s words were once again grating on his friend’s nerves.</p><p>“His Highness is the only prince of Badakhshan,” Shapur stated coldly, “if he has to marry, it should be at least as the <em>hamsaram<a href="#_ftn2" id="_ftnref2" name="_ftnref2"><strong>[2]</strong></a></em>, not a <em>harci</em>.”</p><p>“It’s in deference of the prince’ previous status that he’s given a first-rank position as a <em>harci</em>,” Narsas says, a discrete edge in his voice to admonish Shapur for his behaviour. “In fact, as soon as he signed, he no longer bears the title of prince, for there’s no longer a kingdom of Badakhshan, only the province of Badakhshan. I thought that was what you sought, Shapur.”</p><p>As if Narsas’ words were ice water pouring on him, the young <em>marzban</em> froze up and closed his mouth. An uncomfortable moment passed.</p><p>“Congratulations, Your Majesty,” Kishwad said and coughed discreetly into his hand, his tone as flat as if he just asked for the time. “By the way, I wanted to consult lord Narsas about tomorrow’s hunting party…”</p><p>Thanking Kishwad internally for the diversion, they spent the remaining time of the meeting talking about safer topics. Shapur made a point by staying stubbornly silent unless they asked him specifically. In fact, he was being so silent that Narsas was on the verge of thinking that he had overdone it. The silence was completely out of place with the usually irritable <em>marzban</em>. He would have to think of something to fix it. </p><p>The meeting finally ended, and the <em>marzbans</em> were leaving when Daryun called Shapur.</p><p>“Shapur! Stay for a moment.”</p><p>The man stopped and turned, ever so slowly, and looked at them without saying a word.</p><p>Though Narsas kept smiling, there was a sudden tug in his bowels, his palms cold. He begged internally for his friend to be extremely careful of what he was going to say next. Shapur was in a very delicate point and breaking his trust of them now would be extremely easy.</p><p>Next to him, Daryun raised and walked towards Shapur, until he was right in front of him, and looked him in the eyes.</p><p>“Taking the prince into my household wasn’t initially in my plans,” Daryun said, his face stern and serious. “But Narsas and I agree that it would be the safest course of action to bring him to Ecbatana. However, the position as my consort isn’t free of danger, and since our goal is to grant him my protection, <em>harci</em> is the best way to keep him safe. I meant no disrespect by agreeing to give him that position, and I won’t allow anyone to disrespect him in my household.”</p><p>Shapur not once looked away of his shah. Even if the tight line of his lips didn’t relax one bit, the anger in his eyes smoothed out, leaving behind a trail of sadness. He looked down and muttered:</p><p>“So Your Majesty will take responsibility of His Highness’ well-being?” He asked.</p><p>“Yes,” came Daryun’s answer, steady and resolute.</p><p>Shapur nodded once, his head jerking as if he was moving against his wishes.</p><p>“Thanks,” he said, turning to the door. </p><p>Narsas let out a sigh he didn’t know he had been holding and smoothed the fabric he had crumpled in his fists when he had heard Daryun’s first words. Daryun never lied. It was one of the qualities that had convinced Narsas to involve himself in the muddy waters that was the politics at the capital’s court, and what earned him the trust of his officials.</p><p>He admitted that it had worried him that Daryun would say that the prince and he would be both sacrificing for the greater good. Shapur wouldn’t have found that pitiable in the least. He was also thankful for the trust the man had in Daryun. He doubted that those words, coming from any other, would have been able to convince the <em>marzban</em>.</p><p>Inwardly, the spark of concern he had had since he had planned this arrangement, also died out. Daryun seemed open to taking care of the prince. An arranged marriage often led to unhappy marriages, which he wasn’t what he wanted for his friend. However, having met Arslan, he had been willing to make a bet.</p><p>A dangerous bet, nonetheless.</p><p>He’d have to observe how everything played out in the next months.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Daryun </strong>
</p><p>When the <em>marzbans</em> finally left, Daryun let out a tired groan and placed his head in his hands.</p><p>“There, there,” Narsas said, patting his shoulder lightly. “You did well right now.”</p><p>“I wasn’t lying,” he said, his voice muffled by his hands.</p><p>While he was still not overjoyed at the idea of marrying the prince, he could admit that he no longer felt the need to kill him. After all, the prince had done nothing to deserve punishment. Though he couldn’t promise him a life full of happiness—heck, he couldn’t even say he’d stay married to him—he could guarantee to take care of him while he was under his protection.</p><p>He was the shah of Pars, after all. What was one more person when millions already depended on him?</p><p>“I know,” was the serene answer of his friend. “I will go to draft the official announcement. Let’s see if we can settle this today.”</p><p>“Thanks,” Daryun said tiredly. “I’ll be overseeing Andragoras’ move to the castle’s cells,” he sighed.</p><p>He pressed his face into his palms and rubbed hard to wake himself up.</p><p>Narsas’ plan consisted in leaving Andragoras out in plain sight, but with a heavy guard, to see if they could draw out potential allies hiding around the capital before they moved the man to the castle cells. However, the night had been quiet, and no one had tried to free the shah, so they would now keep Andragoras somewhere safer.</p><p>They had given the man the barest minimum for his meals, to ensure he’d be weak and wouldn’t cause much trouble. However, even weakened and hungry, the man was a force to be reckoned, and Daryun refused to allow him to escape, so he would oversee the process himself, full-armoured and armed to the teeth to prevent any incident.</p><p>“We can’t keep on like this for long,” Narsas mused.</p><p>Daryun nodded next to him.</p><p>“I hope Shapur’s brother can bring Javad here fast enough. I want to carry out the trial as soon as possible. We can’t afford to make mistakes in that part.”</p><p>If the shah escaped, the situation would be much difficult to control. With the shah dead, the nobility stripped of their power and the prince betrothed as a <em>harci, </em>the army of Badakhshan would have no master to turn to. Any rebelling intent would be snuffed out before it started.</p><p>With that in mind, he donned his armour and went to oversee how the soldiers moved the bear cage that held Andragoras to a cell in the castle. Farhad was standing right next to Daryun, the both of them keeping their eyes locked on Andragoras, in case he did anything out of the ordinary.</p><p>However, it was as if Andragoras had no more interest in fighting them, and he let the men move him around as they pleased, without posing resistance. The wrinkles on his forehead and the angle of his thick eyebrows made him look permanently menacing. The soldiers, uncomfortable, worked quick around him.</p><p>Daryun had the distinct feeling that Andragoras enjoyed the fear he invoked in others.</p><p>The wrist he had injured the day before had now a clean bandage. The doctors had strict orders to just keep his wounds clean and covered, but not to apply more treatments, lest he recovered enough to pose a problem.</p><p>Daryun knew that with the angle and the force he had exerted, he had severed the tendons of his wrists, so the mobility of that hand was greatly hindered by the injury. Yet, he didn’t dare to relax, because he had also pierced his shoulder with his spear barely three days before. With that injury, Andragoras had broken his chains and almost killed his “son”.</p><p>It made him wonder if the man could feel pain at all.</p><p>When the men finished, Daryun and Farhad stepped forward to check the bindings and the chains for themselves. Daryun gave a hard tug to the chains and nodded approvingly when his force barely made the chains buckle.</p><p>“Two guards must always keep their eyes on him,” Farhad was saying to the <em>framandars</em> in charge of the prisoners. “You must use your very best men. They must rotate every two hours and be allowed plenty of rest afterwards. Keep the rest of the group near and tell them to be prepared at all times.”</p><p>Daryun nodded next to him, agreeing with his measures. He looked at the <em>framandars</em>’ faces, feeling a wash of relief when he recognised both of the men. They were a pair of husbands, always careful and detailed in their work, so Daryun felt at ease with them being in charge.</p><p>As they spoke in the hallway of the cells, a soldier brought a tray with Andragoras’ meal. Daryun looked at the clear broth, with chunks of vegetables in it, and gave his approval. The man entered the cell, and Daryun followed suit, to check that they were doing the feeding process according to Narsas’ orders.</p><p>The soldier in charge of the meals would leave all kinds of weapons outside, as none were allowed within reach of the prisoner. Others could free a hand to eat, but with men like Andragoras, the food would have to be administered by the soldier, who wore a metallic gauntlet in case the prisoner tried to bite them. The last measure was wasted with men of few words like Andragoras: the men who did these chores were all deaf.</p><p>It didn’t take long for Andragoras to finish eating. The soldier took the bowl and bowed respectfully to Daryun before hurrying to leave. The shah of Pars felt that his duty was finished too, and turned to leave as well when he heard Andragoras’ grave and coarse voice.</p><p>“I don’t see that damned boy. Have you killed him already?”</p><p>Daryun turned and frowned at him.</p><p>“Why do you care if he’s dead or not?”   </p><p>After all, the man had tried to kill the prince the day before.</p><p>“Just curiosity.”</p><p>No more words came from Andragoras. Still frowning, Daryun turned again towards the door, where Farhad was observing them. He stepped towards the exit, but then, turning his head slowly, he said:</p><p>“He’s going to marry me as my <em>harci</em>.”</p><p>Andragoras’s sudden laughter broke the silence, the shah cackling madly on the floor. Daryun stood there, stunned by his reaction.</p><p>“What do you find so funny?” he asked dryly.</p><p>“Marriage? That worthless slut? A fancy name to say that he’ll open his legs to whoever it comes,” Andragoras said, still heaving from his laughs.  </p><p>Daryun tensed, his hands fisting over the pommel of his sword. He remembered distinctly about wondering how Andragoras treated the young man, and he found the answer most unpleasant. However, it was Farhad’s reaction what surprised him the most.</p><p>“Watch your language! That’s His Majesty’s <em>harci</em> who you are talking about!” </p><p>Daryun looked at him, surprised at the length of the phrase. Farhad usually didn’t even bother greeting him! Andragoras’ laughter cut off abruptly.</p><p>“A slut is just a slut, no matter what names you give it!” He growled. “He’s just like his mother, a traitorous, back-stabbing slut. Just wait and see how he betrays you too.”</p><p>He would have believed that a couple of days ago. Now that he had met the prince, and now that he had seen the things the young man had done for his people, he highly doubted the prince would betray the treaty easily. As long as he treated Badakhshan’s people generously, he wouldn’t fear a betrayal from him. He merely snorted and said:</p><p>“I would say that I will take good care of him, but I don’t think you want to hear it.”</p><p>“You could let your entire army fuck him, for all I care,” the man spouted. “Useless scum like him are only good to be used. Though you’d be better off with a <em>mustawlid<a href="#_ftn3" id="_ftnref3" name="_ftnref3"><strong>[3]</strong></a></em>, if what you want is a good lay,” the man added with a vicious smirk. “If I had known earlier, I’d have sent him to practice at an <em>amrad khaneh</em><a href="#_ftn4" id="_ftnref4" name="_ftnref4">[4]</a><em>. </em>The look on his face every time I said I was going to sell him off was priceless!” The man roared again, laughing.   </p><p>Daryun felt his muscles tense, his hands clenching and unclenching, a bubble of bile rising to his mouth as he heard some snickers and muffled laughs from the nobles in the other cells echoing Andragoras’ laughter. The soldiers immediately called them to silence.</p><p>He threw a hard look at Andragoras and said, using a carefully controlled tone:</p><p>“You won’t be there to see it. You won’t be there to see whatever happens with him, so say whatever you want while you still can.” He wouldn’t regret in the slightest the death of the disgusting man in front of him. Even if the prince wasn’t his son, his words made him want to break the man’s jaw and silence his laughs.</p><p>The man didn’t even bother to stop laughing.  </p><p>“I don’t need to see it. He’s just like his mother, of course I know what he’s going to do,” the man said. And then he lowered his hoarse voice confidentially, as if he was telling them a secret. “Don’t you want to know what his mother did? Who knows, it may prepare you for what that little bitch is going to do. Or maybe you’ll take my advice and sell him off to an <em>amrad khaneh</em> and save yourself the trouble. That face may be enough to get you fifty <em>dinars<a href="#_ftn5" id="_ftnref5" name="_ftnref5"><strong>[5]</strong></a></em>.”</p><p>To say that Daryun didn’t feel even the slightest curiosity at the shah’s story with the previous queen would be false. However, he also had the distinct feeling that he wouldn’t like what he was going to hear.</p><p>“Say whatever you want and don’t waste our time,” he said, wishing that Narsas was there to listen as well. Well, he’d have to rely on Daryun’s recount.</p><p>Andragoras needed no more cue.</p><p>“I was there as a general when that coward brought her back. I was there to see how she came to Kishim for the first time, with that useless hag.” The man paused, his eyes looking forward without really focusing on anything. “That damned woman was just like his son, tempting every man she met, playing with them, toying them. Men fought to approach her, but she never let them close on their terms. She would choose who to get close to and she’d leave once she got what she wanted. Seducing every man she met, but never giving herself to any.”</p><p>“I don’t have all day,” Daryun interrupted him, glaring at him.  </p><p>Daryun felt sick hearing him talk like that. Andragoras had probably chased the beautiful newcomer, just as many did besides him. However, he hadn’t got what he wanted, and his ego had been bruised badly, so he resorted on insulting her. His curiosity also peaked, wondering how beautiful a person could be for so many people to fight for the opportunity of approaching her. Narsas hadn’t exaggerated then when he said that people fought for another glimpse of her face.   </p><p>Andragoras laughed drily.</p><p>“In the end, she just wanted the one that could give her more power. Sassan, that coward, dared to call himself a shah, but he couldn’t even handle his woman and all he did was lose territory to those black dogs,” Andragoras said, spitting to one side. “It was ridiculously easy to convince the rest of the generals to make me shah instead. Useless coward.”</p><p>Daryun frowned. Sassan was probably the name of the previous shah, and Tahamenay’s first husband. The one Andragoras had killed to get the throne and the queen. He assumed that the “black dogs” Andragoras was referring to were the Sindhurans. A mountain chain delimited Sindhura’s southern border and Badakhshan’s northeast border. Both countries had been going to war for generations, trying to get past the natural obstacle to increase their territories.  </p><p>“And then you killed him,” Daryun said coldly.</p><p>“He didn’t deserve to be called shah,” Andragoras said matter-of-factly. His face contorted, baring his teeth and his nostrils flaring, with his arms straining as he leant forward. “That wretched woman, that two-faced bitch said the same thing! She said that his husband was weak, and that she was counting on me to defend our country! On me!!” He yelled, his eyes dark and spit flying as he screamed at them.</p><p>A slow comprehension was creeping into Daryun, a sudden coldness in his core as the pieces of Andragoras’ story started to fall in place.</p><p>“So I killed him! That cursed bastard! It took only seconds to run him through my sword!” Andragoras cursed, heaving as he grew agitated. “But that woman had the nerve to <em>cry</em> for him and to call <em>me</em> a traitor!”</p><p>A misunderstanding, Daryun understood with a pang, shaking his head with an incredulous look in his eyes. Andragoras, in his dangerous infatuation with the queen of his shah, had completely misunderstood what she had tried to tell him. Or maybe it wasn’t such a misunderstanding but Andragoras’ deepest desires finally finding a twisted reason to act on. Yet, when everything had been done, instead of the queen’s gratitude and adoration, he had gotten the grief of a widower and the rage of a betrayed queen towards her uprising general.</p><p>Then, horrified, he realised that the next part of the tragedy wasn’t much better.</p><p>“You took her as your wife knowing that she hated you?”</p><p>Andragoras spitted again, his mouth splitting into a smile full of teeth.</p><p>“Some people just need the right touch,” he said, his voice disgustingly cheery. “I told her I’d make her the queen of the largest country of the continent. She’d see how much better I was than that coward. His family was telling her nonsense, saying I was the killer of her husband, how treacherous of her to marry me. So I had them killed too. I told her I could pardon the rest of that coward’s family. It was easy to convince her to marry me.”</p><p>Daryun’s frown deepened. 8 months after the marriage, Tahamenay would give birth to her son. He could only wonder what Tahamenay knew then. Maybe she wasn’t aware of her pregnancy when she had married the shah, and after the marriage, she could only wonder whose child she was bearing. More experienced midwives knew how far along a woman was, based on their bellies, but Daryun wasn’t sure how that worked, and if it was possible to tell one month of difference.</p><p>“I had my suspicions when the doctors said she was pregnant,” Andragoras continued on, his voice taking a sharp edge. “I’d have it cut out of her belly if I could without killing her, just to make sure that whatever child she had was mine. So I waited. I waited outside of her room the day she had that bastard, and I would kill the child if it didn’t look like me.”</p><p>Daryun couldn’t understand the last reasoning.</p><p>“What if the child had taken after her?”</p><p>“I’m not stupid,” Andragoras snickered. “Sassan, that coward, also had light hair and eyes. The previous royal family had all been blond with blue eyes, but all children born in my line have always been dark-haired.”</p><p>Taking his point of view into account, it wasn’t difficult to see how he discovered so fast that the child wasn’t his.</p><p>“Why didn’t you kill the child?”</p><p>“Oh, I wanted to,” Andragoras said with a sing-song voice. “That bitch said that it was the last thing she’d do for that coward, that she had no desire to keep it by her side. She said she’d send it away and be my wife properly. As if I’d believe her!” Andragoras laughed darkly. “But she had been fighting me so hard the first year that I thought, why not? Keep the bastard in her sight, let her see it every once in a while. Let’s see if she fought me again with the bastard in the castle. And she really didn’t anymore,” as he rambled, his voice had turned low at the end, so much Daryun had to strain to hear it.</p><p>Farhad next to him shuddered, and Daryun felt the need to do the same. He recoiled and averted his gaze, thinking that Arslan was fortunate not to be this man’s son. When he had met him on the battlefield at Dorah Pass, Daryun had thought that Andragoras was a beast wearing a man’s skin. He had underestimated how true his impression would be.</p><p>Though not even beasts knew of how to use other’s offspring to keep control of them.</p><p>Tahamenay had successfully given birth under the vigilance of such a monster. More so, she had tried to send the newborn away. She had hoped to make it inconspicuous. Andragoras had seen through her excuses right away and had kept the child hostage to keep her controlled.</p><p>She was alone with the murderer of her husband and her family, with her baby being held against her. Daryun was sure she had valued her marriage to the previous shah more than just for power and riches, if he believed Andragoras’ story.  </p><p>Daryun couldn’t even begin to imagine her despair.</p><p>“She did everything you asked. How did she betray you then?” Daryun asked, wanting to leave as quick as possible. He felt sick just by staying in the same space as the man.</p><p>There was no answer for a moment. Andragoras was silent, but the muscles in his neck and shoulders had tensed so much that he strained the chains, his eyes glinting in the dark.</p><p>Daryun frowned and was going to ask again when the sudden howl from Andragoras made him step back.</p><p>“She died! That whore died! She had been taking rue<a href="#_ftn6" id="_ftnref6" name="_ftnref6">[6]</a> for <em>years</em>!” He screeched, lunging forward so hard that the chains rattled when he pulled on the restraints and his bandages became tinted with blood. His eyes were so wide that Daryun could see the whites and foam forming in the corners of his mouth. “She had been taking rue so she wouldn’t have my children! She had been taking so much that she poisoned herself with it! So I asked her, why?! Why did you do such a <em>foolish</em> thing, stupid woman?!” He panted, as if taking air for his next words. But suddenly he laughed, broken, mirthless cackle. “She said that she would only ever have that coward’s children!”</p><p>The laughter continued to resonate in the cells, seemingly uncaring that every soldier, every noble, every person in the dungeons had also heard him retell the tragedy.</p><p>“She said that the last thing she wanted was that I allowed that bastard to live! The nerve of her! So as soon as she died, I went to break that bastard’s neck!”</p><p>Daryun finally let his horror take charge and left the cell swiftly, asking Farhad in tow to lock the door. But Andragoras wasn’t finished, and he continued talking even though the sound of the door bolting clanked loudly.</p><p>“She used me, just like she used every man she seduced… I tried, I tried to make this country big, but those damned black dogs fought back, and every time I came back I had to see that bastard… The bastard has the same eyes as his whore of a mother and he kept looking and looking…”</p><p>Daryun had heard enough. He exchanged a horrified glance with Farhad, whose pale face and tight-knit eyebrows spoke of a palpable distress.</p><p>“Don’t let anyone approach Andragoras,” he instructed Farhad and the <em>framandars</em>, and left, leaving with Andragoras’ broken laughs behind.</p><p>He had to talk to Narsas.</p><p>***</p><p> </p><p><a href="#_ftnref1" id="_ftn1" name="_ftn1">[1]</a> The royal caste. It’s the highest of the five social classes: <em>wispuhran, wuzurgan, azadan, azat</em> and <em>ghulams</em>.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref2" id="_ftn2" name="_ftn2">[2]</a> Official spouse. A <em>hamsar</em> can only have a single <em>hamsaram</em>.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref3" id="_ftn3" name="_ftn3">[3]</a> Male prostitute.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref4" id="_ftn4" name="_ftn4">[4]</a> Male houses of prostitution.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref5" id="_ftn5" name="_ftn5">[5]</a> Gold coins. <em>Drachms</em> are silver coins and <em>mithqal</em> are copper coins.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref6" id="_ftn6" name="_ftn6">[6]</a> The medieval physician Ibn Sina documented rue as an abortifacient. Refined rue oil was described as an abortifacient and emmenagogue, and rue extracts are mutagenic and hepatotoxic (Wikipedia). So large doses, or small but chronic doses, might cause systemic complications and death. This is not medical information!</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hi! I hope you are all well! The weather here is terrible, and it's so cold that I've gotten chilblains ~(&gt;_&lt;~) </p><p>Thank you all for your lovely comments and the kudos! It gave me a huge boost these past two weeks. Sending love to you all! σ(≧ε≦σ) ♡ </p><p>By the way, I'm including some warnings at the beginning of the chapters, as they're needed. I'm also including them in the fics tags if they're going to appear more than once.  </p><p>These are some curiosities about this chapter, for those who might be interested!:</p><p>1. Soooo let's just say that Daryun is such a genius that he can cut the tendons of a hand without actually damaging the radial artery. Just letting you know that without surgery tools and time, it'd be very difficult to miss the artery and avoid the blood loss (¯▿¯) </p><p>2. I don't work in physics or chemistry, so I don't actually know if that way of distinguishing salt and sand would work. Theoretically, yes, because their density is different and salt is heavier. </p><p>3. Also, rue exists and it has culinary uses (according to Wikipedia)! Everything is bad in excess though! Even water. </p><p>4. Here you have the backstory of Andragoras and Tahamenay... I haven't actually reading what happen with them in the novel, so I'm making it up for my fic. This kind of upbringing is bound to cause some kind of effects in Arslan, especially because he was very young when it all happened. What happened to our beloved prince?  Σ(°ロ°)</p><p>5. The liberal use of the word "prince" in these first chapters is totally intentional. </p><p>By the way, English isn't my first language, and I do all the editing by myself. If you see a mistake (grammar, spelling, whatever), let me know so I can improve! </p><p>See you in my next update (°◡°♡)!<br/><strong>Next update: February 7th</strong></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Reunion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Disclaimer: I don't own Arslan Senki.</p><p>This is based on the events of the manga (currently at ch. 89!)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chapter 4: Reunion</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>The Treaty of Kishim, Pars Year 325. From the Royal Secretariat of Pars. </strong>
</p><p>“<em>Fifth clause. The Prince of Badakhshan, Arslan, will enter the household of His Majesty, shah Daryun the First, as a first-rank </em>harci<em>, a sign of good-will and collaboration between both of the territories. </em></p><p><em>5.1. As </em>harci<em>, he shall not make use of the title of His Royal Highness Prince of Badakhshan. He shall not have authority to issue any order, be it military or civil, in either Badakhshan or Pars, and he shall not take part in Pars’ Court. </em></p><p>
  <em>5.2. Asides from his personal riches, he shall not manage riches and funds of any kind in Pars or Badakhshan.</em>
</p><p><em>5.3. All communication between Badakhshan and the Prince must be overseen by the </em>framatar<em> or his proxies.  </em></p><p><em>5.3. Without written leave from the </em>framatar<em> or His Majesty the shah, he shall not leave the city of Ecbatana.</em></p><p>
  <em>5.4. …”</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Arslan </strong>
</p><p>Arslan had had a lot of time to think the night before, curled on the pile of hay in his cell.</p><p>When <em>tahir </em>Kishwad had captured him at the temple, he had honestly thought he was going to die. That he was going to lose his life and Parsians would display his head on the city walls. Numb and shocked, he remembered thinking that at least the children, the servants and Jaswant were safe.</p><p>It had been an immense relief to discover that they wanted him alive, and even more so, that he would remain untouched while they sorted things out. He had heard bloodcurdling stories about Parsian torture methods.</p><p>In hindsight, he had agreed too fast to the <em>framatar’s</em> request of collaboration, the man’s charisma pushing him inexorably towards the result he wanted. But contemplating his options now, Arslan was still confident about his choice. It was either accept Parsians’ request and live a few more days, enough to make sure his people hadn’t fallen into worse hands, or refuse to collaborate and die, his death meaningless and his efforts futile.</p><p>Yet he’d have never guessed that they wanted him to marry their shah.</p><p>Arslan had heard plenty of stories about Daryun the First, the fierce shah of Pars. Having inherited the throne at the young age of twelve, he had spent the first decade of his reign warring against the Lusitanians that had invaded Pars. The young shah’s prowess and talent in the battlefield had soon attracted the old guard of Pars nobility, who had been defending their own territories, and he united them under a single banner. After that, defeating the invaders had been a matter of time.</p><p>In the last few years, with the main force of the Lusitanians gone, he had focused on taking back lost land and making Pars even more prosperous. If Arslan remembered correctly, the shah was around thirty years old.</p><p>It seemed a disadvantageous marriage for them, no matter how Arslan thought about it. Badakhshan was rather poor by Parsian standards, and they had only managed to protect their land because the mountains made a natural defence. Pars was a rich country with a flourishing economy and culture. Even as a… <em>harci</em>, he brought no advantages into the marriage.</p><p>On the other hand, he was sure that they had reasons to find it agreeable. </p><p>He had wondered then if the cause of it had been his face. Arslan didn’t see his reflection often, but he had had enough experiences that talked of the effect his face had on other people. Maybe, he had thought darkly, the <em>framatar </em>had devised the plot to please his master, to get him another <em>harci </em>that may be of his liking.</p><p>If that had been all the reason, he felt bad for the <em>framatar’s </em>plan. He was sure the shah despised him. The cold eyes and the hard grip on his arm when he had staggered backwards in front of the cage had been hard to ignore.</p><p>Besides, even if the shah were to show him favour, he wouldn’t be able to keep it past the first night.</p><p>Worried about what the shah might do if he found him inadequate, he had checked the clauses for annulment in his contract. The wash of relief would have been enough to make him fall if he hadn’t been sitting: Pars could only annul the marriage before the two-year deadline if Arslan committed an act of high treason.</p><p>All things considered, Arslan had no real reason to refuse. If he married the shah, he could make sure by himself that Pars did what they promised. He didn’t particularly mind that he would be a concubine instead of the legal spouse. As a man incapable of providing the shah with heirs, his position as consort would be very shaky and prone to demotion, if inner court politics worked as they did in Serica or Sindhura, his only references. At least as a <em>harci</em>, he knew what to expect.</p><p>Judging by lord Narsas’ words yesterday, the shah didn’t have a consort yet. He wondered how many people were in the shah’s household. If he was lucky, maybe the shah had a long-time favourite or other <em>harcis </em>that attracted his attention, so he would leave him alone.</p><p>Now that he thought about it, he didn’t even know if the shah liked men.</p><p>But…</p><p>He couldn’t help but feel apprehensive around the shah. A tall, robust man with dark features was bound to make him think of the other tall and robust shah he knew of. It didn’t help that this shah also had a frown permanently etched in his face and that his physical strength surpassed Arslan’s by far, like a bull’s force compared to a mouse’s muscles.</p><p>Still, he had stopped his hand when he had asked him to spare Jaswant. Oh, Jaswant, that foolish man…  </p><p>He had also saved him when His Majesty had tried to kill him. And his voice, when he had greeted him at first, had been gentle, even if detached.</p><p>Maybe, just maybe… this man was better? Better than the man that had finally succumbed to his desire to kill him? Arslan had never held the illusion of a marriage of love, but he had wished for respect and companionship. Though he wouldn’t expect companionship from the shah, respect may not be so far-fetched once they knew each other better. </p><p>Holding that small hope in his heart, Arslan’s hand hadn’t trembled when he signed the contract.</p><p>Then it had come to the treaty.</p><p>To speak frankly, Arslan was in an inferior position. Captured and with no way to communicate with the people outside, he had no base to negotiate with them. Yet he had been willing to try. Whatever he could get in the negotiations about the treaty, every inch of leniency, would probably the last thing he could do to protect Badakhshan as their prince, before he signed away his rights.</p><p>However, the treaty had also surprised him. He had almost expected Pars to ask for exorbitant <em>dorahs, </em>despite his first conversation with the <em>framatar</em>—in his experience, rich people never knew how much was “too much” or “too little”. Also, a strict imposition of Pars’ culture and laws, and the extermination of their old traditions.</p><p>The <em>framatar </em>had broken his expectations again. They would impose Pars’ laws and taxes with adjustments, but lifting old Badakh taxes at the same time. Parsian was to be taught to all children, and education would be mandatory, but there was no prohibition to speak Avestan<a href="#_ftn1" id="_ftnref1" name="_ftnref1">[1]</a>. They’d change the coin and the measurement, but they mostly used Parsian methods anyway, because it made dealing with merchants easier. Pars would also provide funds for hospitals and doctors.</p><p>They would spare all lives of soldiers and officials under the rank of commander. Though there weren’t many left, since most had perished in Dorah Pass. Jaswant’s life, despite attempting to kill the shah, would be spared.</p><p>So there had been no need to negotiate. What he had had was merely an illusion of a choice, but it didn’t feel as bitter as it could. Arslan knew that his knowledge about government and economy was still imperfect despite his teacher’s best efforts, yet he was confident that he had made a good judgement about the conditions of the treaty.</p><p>Of course, he had considered waiting it out at first. But His Majesty had taken 30,000 cavalrymen and 50,000 foot soldiers to fight against 45,000 cavalrymen and 70,000 foot soldiers from Pars, leaving a measly number of 20,000 foot soldiers and a 5,000-men cavalry under general Pedram’s orders. The old and proud general had died, so that left the army without a man to turn to.</p><p>General Javad in Darwaz had 15,000 cavalrymen and 30,000 foot soldiers. Arslan had instructed Jaswant to tell that the Parsians far outnumbered him and to prepare themselves to hold a siege while letting go as many commoners as they could, so they could seek refuge in the countryside.</p><p>In short, he shouldn’t expect general Javad to rescue him and the soldiers in the city were too outnumbered to put up a fight. Therefore, he had to let go of the idea of dragging the issue on, lest the Parsians regretted being too lenient with them.</p><p>Arslan sighed. His throat hurt.</p><p>He hoped he wouldn’t come to regret his decision.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Elam</strong>
</p><p>The clothes his master had ordered to prepare for the prince had come from his master’s own luggage.</p><p>There had been no sign of where the prince’s room might be, so Narsas had simply taken his own clothes and had asked Elam to fix them so they’d fit the prince. After all, his master and the prince were almost of the same height, the prince’s shoulders an inch narrower and overall slimmer. For a prince, Elam mused, the young man seemed underweight. Maybe he was a picky eater?</p><p>He placed the adjusted clothes on a tray and brought them to the room Arslan was staying in. A group of servants followed him, carrying a wooden tub and hot water. He knocked on the door and announced himself for Jimsa.</p><p>When he entered, he wrinkled his nose in distaste. The prince had stayed in the clothes they had found him in, and though Elam had brought him wash water every morning, the prince’s clothes were in a sorry state. They had been dirty, soiled with soot and grime, and the past two days in the dungeons hadn’t helped.</p><p>The young man himself was sitting on the windowsill, looking at the gardens outside, deep in thought. Jimsa was sitting on a plush chair next to the door, watching him disinterestedly.</p><p>Seeing that the prince hadn’t noticed him, Elam cleared his voice, making Arslan’s head turn to him.</p><p>“Your Highness, I bring you fresh clothes. We have drawn a bath for you.”</p><p>“Thank you, Elam,” the prince said nonchalantly, his voice still hoarse, watching the servants place the tub behind a screen and filling it with the buckets of hot water.</p><p>Elam raised his eyebrows so high they almost touched his hairline. He wished he could have hidden his expression better when the prince turned to look at him and smiled.</p><p>“I hear lord Narsas call you that the day before,” he explained. Seeing that Elam didn’t answer, the smile dropped, and he asked, “was I wrong to call you like that?”</p><p>He had bothered to remember his name.</p><p>Elam looked at Jimsa, searching for reassurance. The curious expression on the soldier’s face made him feel better.</p><p>“Oh, no, that’s my name, Your Highness.” Feeling strange, he placed the clothes on the bed.</p><p>“How is your injury?” The prince asked, more confidently now that Elam had acknowledged him.</p><p>Elam winced when the young man reminded him of the huge bruise that Sindhuran had left on his side. The throbbing pain was distracting whenever he as much as moved his arms, and even more present when he carried things around or moved his waist, including walking. Not that it was bothersome enough to stop him from carrying out his duties. It would take more to leave him out of the game.</p><p>“I’m fine,” was Elam’s curt answer.</p><p>He’s a strange man, he thought. First, he had bothered to remember his name, and now he had inquired about his injury. He exchanged another glance with Jimsa, whose eyes had turned from curious to mistrustful. The Turanian nodded, keeping his eyes locked on the prince.</p><p>The prince approached and looked at the clothes with a strange expression. It reminded Elam of the merchants seeing the exotic animals in Ecbatana for the first time when they first travelled to the capital. Though these were no strange animals, but a short tunic, in the creamy tones that his master favoured, and a heavy and rich caftan in deep red and golden stitches that his master had brought in case he needed something more formal.</p><p>
  <em>If he dares to say anything about lord Narsas’ clothes… </em>
</p><p>Elam didn’t have time to finish his thoughts, interrupted by the young man’s voice.</p><p>“These clothes look very nice. Thank you.”</p><p>That was the second time the prince thanked him. It wasn’t any less disturbing for Elam. He was used to only two people ever bothering to thank him, and he refused to place the prince on the same level as his master and the shah.</p><p>The servants finished filling the tub and left with a respectful bow, most of them sneaking a peek at the prince. Some of them sighed dreamily—the prince’s allure was conspicuous even under his dirty, torn clothes and his disheveled appearance. Elam noticed and shooed them off, following the prince behind the screen.</p><p>The prince was startled.</p><p>“Oh, I can bathe by myself!”</p><p>Elam furrowed his brow suspiciously, wondering if the prince was hiding something under his clothes.</p><p>“I must assist His Highness,” he insisted. “I received strict orders of lord Narsas!”</p><p>“But…”</p><p>“Please don’t make my job more difficult for me, Your Highness.”</p><p>The prince was holding the edge of the tub so tightly that his knuckles were white, his brow furrowed. The suspicious look on his face made Elam more determined to stay, so he planted his feet resolutely, scowling at the prince.   </p><p>“You may stay,” the prince finally relented, “but I can undress and wash by myself.”</p><p>Satisfied with the compromise, Elam held his hands out for the prince’s clothes.</p><p>For truth’s sake, the young man really was used to doing things himself, judging by the speed he took off his clothes, handed them to Elam and got in the tub. Elam had to suppress an amused smile when he heard the prince’s sigh of pleasure when he got into the hot water. Curiously enough, the prince hadn’t been hiding anything, and his clothes revealed nothing either.</p><p>He was a strange man, Elam thought as he jolted when he handed him a cloth and soap to wash himself with. He must have taken the clothes he had been wearing from some servant, though they fit him well. They were well-worn and made of modest fabrics, just as Elam’s clothes were. He took them and compared them to the clothes he had fixed, huffing proudly when he checked they would fit the prince.</p><p>Since the prince got in the bath, hidden behind the screen, Jimsa had been napping in his chair, taking advantage of the break that Elam’s presence was for him. The soft snores and the pleasant sound of the water rippling and burbling in the tub were the only things that could be heard.</p><p>Elam got a large cloth ready for the prince when he finished washing and returned to his place next to the tub. He couldn’t help observing the stark white hair with interest. Now that the prince had washed it, it was as white as fresh snow, even more striking without the soot and the dirt. It wasn’t a common hair colour, and Elam noted curiously that even the prince’s eyebrows and eyelashes were clear.</p><p>Looking at the prince’s face, he couldn’t help but notice the faint blush from the bath, and the smooth skin of his collarbones peeking from the surface. Elam’s face flushed red furiously as he turned his eyes, rising the large cloth in his hands for the prince to come out in the bath.</p><p>He didn’t dare to look back until he was sure the young man had covered his body, and left swiftly to pick up the clothes, letting them on a stool behind the screen.</p><p>“I’ll wait for His Highness to finish dressing,” he spoke quickly and bolted again.</p><p>He was in such a hurry he didn’t notice the prince’s sigh of relief when he left.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Daryun </strong>
</p><p>Later, When Daryun came back from the cells and joined Narsas in the office, Elam was also there, whispering in his master’s ear. He interrupted them to tell Narsas what Andragoras had told him in the cells.</p><p>“Say something,” Daryun pressed when his friend stayed silent for too long.</p><p>“This changes nothing,” Narsas said finally. With a quick order, he sent Elam to summon the prince to have lunch with them. “If anything, it’s even more clear that Andragoras is a usurper and prince Arslan is the rightful heir of Badakhshan, as the only son of the previous shah. Either way, he has signed away his rights to the throne.”</p><p>Daryun knew that. It was just that the disaster that had befallen on Tahamenay’s life with Andragoras had left him unnerved.</p><p>“For all the things Andragoras did for Tahamenay, he now hates her so much that he didn’t mention her name even once,” he mused.</p><p>Narsas shrugged with a mournful sigh.</p><p>“I can imagine Andragoras’ despair. He had committed regicide and the one who had instigated it was denying all relation to it. Her refusal to marry him made his every plan meaningless and his great sin without a redeemable cause. Finally, her refusal to carry his children and dying for it had to be the last straw.”</p><p>Daryun looked at his friend, agreeing silently. Badakhshan, as most countries on the continent, placed a lot of value in bloodlines. Moreover, it wasn’t just bloodlines, but also inheritance from father to sons. A title without a son to inherit, a land without children to take over or a property falling into another family’s hands were one of their biggest misfortunes. For that reason, male and male marriages weren’t unheard of, but they were rare as concubinage wasn’t practiced.</p><p>They hadn’t been there to witness it, and they could never tell what had happened exactly, but from Andragoras’ point of view, the whole disaster had been caused by one and only.</p><p>“One has to have a streak of madness to think like that.”</p><p>What had Andragoras expected from tormenting Tahamenay like that?</p><p>Narsas, who had been contemplating gods knew what, snapped out of his trance and snickered.</p><p>“Thank Ashi you know that,” Narsas said, jokingly exasperated. His voice returned to a more serious tone when he said, “There’s something I don’t understand yet. Why did the prince come back after leaving Kishim?”</p><p>Daryun had also wondered about it. At first he had been sure that it was Tahamenay’s famous last request what had kept her child alive, but Andragoras’ words gave him a clue of something else that may had helped the prince survive.</p><p>He didn’t have a drawing of the late queen, but he suspected the prince took after her a lot. Enough to make it unbearable for Andragoras to kill him. However, that didn’t explain why the prince or his caretakers had taken the risk of sending him back to Kishim.</p><p>Their conversation had ended there and they switched to other topics of things they’d need to finish before returning to Ecbatana while they waited for the prince to join them.</p><p>When the young man had arrived with Elam and Jimsa, Daryun had to look twice to make sure that it was the same man he had met in the morning.</p><p>With the silvery hair and fair skin clean of soot and grime, his whole features seemed to glow faintly in the light. He was looking down, but Daryun noticed that the bruise, once cleaned, didn’t look as bad as it did before. Thinking about the prince’s other bruise, he noticed that a high collar was now covering it. He had changed into a short tunic and pants, and even plain but fresh clothes brought out the prince’s grace.</p><p>Next to him, Narsas’ irritating snigger grated on his ear again, making him look to the food pointedly.</p><p>“I thought I had taken out a caftan for the prince?” Narsas asked, looking at Elam.</p><p> Before Elam could open his mouth, the prince answered.</p><p>“Elam told me that the announcement will be this afternoon, after lunch,” he said, sure and steady. “I thought it would be better if I appeared before my people as I have always done.”</p><p>Daryun didn’t understand how could a piece of clothing make such a difference, but Narsas looked delighted with the prince’s words, so he didn’t comment on it. He’d be wearing his armour because he didn’t want to change.</p><p>“Sit, Your Highness. We’re having lunch here. I’m going to explain to you some basic protocol for the announcement…”</p><p>With Narsas taking care of the conversation, Daryun focused on eating the food Elam was putting in front of them. He was just instructing the prince on some basic etiquette and the overall running of public announcements. It wouldn’t be the last time the prince would have to appear with him in an event, so better prepare him.</p><p>Daryun was just grateful that as the main <em>hamsar</em>, he wouldn’t be as restricted in his interactions with him. Because he doubted he would be able to remember things like staying always at his left, to not address anyone he didn’t address first or to stay silent unless specifically asked. The prince wouldn’t need most of the etiquette until he officially married him, so Narsas wasn’t instructing him on those. Today they’d appear as the shah of Pars and the prince of Badakhshan, but his soldiers wouldn’t take it kindly if the prince were to walk in front of him.</p><p>Daryun found etiquette utterly boring—the braised duck Elam had prepared was far more interesting. Yet, one topic caught his attention.</p><p>“And how should I address you?” the prince asked. Elam had brought him honeyed tea at the start of their meal, and while his voice was still scratchy, it didn’t sound as grave as in the morning. Among the Badakh <em>wispuhrans</em>, it was common to call each other by their names, he explained.</p><p>“Your Highness can keep addressing me as ‘Narsas’,” Narsas said, frowning when he added, “but it would be improper for you to call His Majesty by his name.”</p><p>True. The name of the shah in Pars was not to be called by anyone, as no one was on the same standing as the shah. Not even his uncle Vahriz called him ‘Daryun’ nowadays and for all Narsas treated him informally, he too didn’t call him by his name. Only the consort of the shah would be allowed to, and even then it wouldn’t be common.</p><p>“‘<em>Your Majesty’</em> then?” The title rolled off his tongue with a heavy dose of uneasiness.</p><p>His words, combined with his raspy voice, made Daryun think of the prince’s gasping voice when Andragoras had tried to strangle him. Daryun frowned as well. It didn’t take Narsas’ brain to realize that it would be counterproductive to have him call Daryun the same way he called the man that had tried to kill him.</p><p>For all he knew his position demanded respect, he didn’t like to instil fear in those close to him. He reserved that for the battlefield. The prince would stay with him for a long time, and Daryun wasn’t as cruel as to keep him on his toes for years. Besides, fear could easily incite treason and discontent, so he’d rather avoid it.</p><p>The prince had also turned to him, looking at him with his mouth turned into a fine line and tense shoulders. The look in his eyes reminded him of Shabrang when he first met the wild horse. Distrusting, on guard.</p><p>Daryun didn’t need bright eyes and adoring gazes, but neutrality would be more comfortable for him.</p><p>Narsas hummed, probably reaching the same conclusion as Daryun.</p><p>“According to protocol, ‘my lord’ would be more correct, Your Highness. However, that should be reserved for after the ceremony. Before, please stick to ‘Your Majesty’.”</p><p>It was an acceptable compromise. It would be also new for Daryun to have someone calling him ‘my lord’. The prince mouthed the words silently, as if trying to get used to them. His stance was already much more relaxed than a moment before, and he returned to peeling grapes and placing them in his mouth.</p><p>When they finished their lunch, Narsas asked Elam to summon Shapur. The prince perked up visibly when he heard it, shaking the crumbs off his clothes.</p><p>The <em>marzban</em> arrived wearing his armour, the lion’s head brooch on display on his chest. There was a barely contained smile on his face when he entered, his steps light and quick, approaching the low table with wide strides.</p><p>“Greetings, Your Majesty! Lord Narsas!” He said hurriedly as he knelt next to them, his voice strong. Daryun smiled quietly, his heart feeling warm and content that they hadn’t needed to carry out their initial plan. The man’s joy was obvious and palpable when he turned to the third party of the table, and there was a rare display of emotion in his voice when he said, “Your Highness…”</p><p>He supposed it was an understandable reaction, since it was the first time Shapur had seen the prince in years. The proud <em>marzban </em>stayed with a knee on the floor, his eyes wide and his mouth slack as he took in the prince’s appearance, slowly extending a hand to him. Curiously, he looked at Daryun before turning back to the prince.</p><p>The prince’s smile was so blinding, honest happiness and unadulterated delight at the sight of the <em>marzban</em>, that even Daryun had to blink twice when he turned his gaze at him. He had witnessed in the morning a small prelude of this smile, and even then it had made him feel strange inside. As if his stomach was ticklish. None had been for him, but for Shapur, and he silently wondered if he should worry about it.</p><p>The prince extended his hands earnestly towards the hand Shapur was holding out, taking the <em>marzban</em>’s hand into his. Narsas’ warning cough was ignored unwittingly, as the prince talked.</p><p>“It’s good to see you well, <em>marzban </em>Shapur. The years have treated you well.”</p><p>“Likewise, Your Highness,” the man said, his voice breaking at the end. He let his hand off the prince’s grip and let his head hung low in front of the prince. “I must express my utmost gratitude to Your Highness for saving the life of my foolish brother while I was away. Please consider Shapur and his brother Esfan forever indebted to Your Highness for your generosity.”</p><p>Daryun should have learnt by now to let go of his feelings in plans that involved the grand scheme of Pars, but he couldn’t avoid the spark of guilt at the sight of Shapur’s heartfelt gratitude. He knew Shapur wouldn’t let go of his honour-bound gratitude towards the prince, so he’d never have to use the prince’s safety to force Shapur’s hand. Yet using other’s honour and morality for their own purposes always left a bitter taste in his tongue.</p><p>The young man merely shook a hand lightly, his smile turning a little embarrassed.</p><p>“There’s no need for this, <em>marzban </em>Shapur. I merely did what was right,” he said. “Esfan has been communicating with you?”</p><p>“He sends me letters from time to time.”</p><p>“Oh,” the prince looked lost for a second. “I thought no messenger reached from Kishim to Ecbatana,” he added curiously.  </p><p>Daryun tensed. Almost instantly, he forced himself to relax. It didn’t matter anymore if the prince discovered Esfan was their eyes in Badakhshan. They had been using Kishwad’s falcons to send messages to Shapur’s brother, and the man had contributed greatly by providing them with information. However, now that they had taken Badakhshan, it didn’t matter whether the prince discovered he had harboured and protected a spy or not.</p><p>“A friend lent me his falcons,” Shapur said, a bit embarrassed. Then, his expression sobered up, and he asked, “how is Sareh?”</p><p>The prince’s smile turned so forced that it made Daryun uncomfortable to look at him. A small voice in his head wondered who was this Sareh, but he supposed it wasn’t his problem. He turned his sight to the food, but noticed how his pale hands fisted on his thighs anyway.</p><p>“She died a year after you left,” the prince answered, his voice murmuring.</p><p>“What?” Shapur asked, shocked.</p><p>“She got sick,” the young man whispered. “At least she doesn’t suffer anymore.”</p><p>An uncomfortable silence spread on the room, with the prince and Shapur silent. The others around him didn’t know what to say either. Narsas coughed a little to cover the silence. It seemed no one had predicted that the conversation would take an awkward turn.</p><p>“Now, now. I called <em>marzban </em>Shapur here for something else, Your Highness,” Narsas said tactfully. “We’d like to let you know that <em>marzban </em>Shapur is going to stay in Badakhshan indefinitely as Pars military representative.”</p><p>“Oh, really?” the prince smiled again. “That’s marvellous!”</p><p>It was curious, Daryun thought. He had only known the prince for a couple of days, but he had noticed that unless he felt extremely uneasy, the prince was very prone to smiles and laughs. However, contrary to Narsas, who always had the same smile on his face, the kind of smiles that could either mean “<em>I’m glad to see you</em>” and “<em>I hope you die a slow, painful death</em>”, the prince’s smiles told a very different story on their own.</p><p>Like the smile that exuded joy from before, or the way his smile now talked of a deep relief, his eyes letting go of caution and the way his lips parted sincerely in a smaller smile. Even if something in his face, maybe the curve of his eyebrows or the lines in his smile, hadn’t let go yet of the sadness at Shapur’s last question.</p><p>He wondered if he always wore his heart on the sleeve so clearly.</p><p>“Another thing I wanted to ask you is about what do you know about shah Sassan?” Narsas asked.</p><p>Daryun perked up. He hadn’t expected Narsas to be so blunt about it. Taking the opportunity, he observed Shapur and the prince’s reaction.</p><p>“He’s the previous shah, isn’t he?” Shapur asked, his face returning to the ever familiar frown Daryun was used to see. “I was very young when Andragoras staged the coup against him, so I don’t remember him well. What about it?”</p><p>The prince’s face, however, told them what they needed to know, even before he spoke.</p><p>“I suppose lord Narsas is talking about my parentage,” he said, frowning, and his mouth turned into a fine line. “I’m aware of it.”</p><p>“Oh?” Narsas said, raising his eyebrows. “It saves us the trouble then.” He caught Shapur’s dumbfounded expression and said, “His Highness is most definitely the son of shah Sassan, as Andragoras himself has confessed. We’re planning to announce Andragoras as a usurper, since the previous shah’s bloodline isn’t wiped out.”</p><p>Shapur gasped, opening and closing his mouth like a fish that had fallen on land.</p><p>“I… I never thought that he’d allow a child that wasn’t his to live,” he said, slowly digesting the information. “Though it would explain a lot of things.”</p><p>Daryun snickered. It explained a lot of things, indeed.</p><p>Elam, who had gone to check the time, came back and announced:</p><p>“It’s time.”</p><p>It was time for the announcement.</p><p>The <em>marzbans </em>had called out all the <em>azadan </em>and most of the <em>azats,</em> and the civil <em>wuzurgan </em>of Kishim. They’d make the announcement in the castle gates to the highest ranking officials of the Parsian army and the Badakh <em>azats </em>and <em>azadans</em>. Soldiers would also spread the new announcing it in every street of Kishim. They’d also let all Badakh soldiers know of it, and prince Arslan would take a tour around the camp with their shah to reassure them.</p><p>“Your Highness and lord Shapur may go first, His Majesty and I have something to discuss before the announcement,” Narsas said. The prince nodded and rose with Jimsa to leave. Before he reached the door, Narsas asked, “I’m curious, Your Highness. Who told you about your heritage?”</p><p>Arslan turned, a curious look in his eyes.</p><p>“It was my teacher.”</p><p>Narsas nodded with a thoughtful expression.  </p><p>Shapur also bowed to them and turned, but before he left, he threw a dark look to his shah over his shoulder. Daryun, confused, turned his head towards Narsas.</p><p>“It’s because of the prince,” Narsas said, facing forward.</p><p>“I thought he had already accepted it,” Daryun said, frowning.</p><p>“He may have understood it this morning,” Narsas conceded, “but he hadn’t seen prince Arslan since he was thirteen years old. Perhaps he knew then that the prince would grow into a handsome man, but I doubt he’d foreseen just how attractive he would be. He might have doubts of your intentions for marrying him.”</p><p>“He thinks I want to marry him because of…” <em>lust</em>? He didn’t dare to say, feeling a pulsing headache growing in his temples, and he rubbed his eyes tiredly. These were the issues he loathed to deal with.</p><p>“Most likely,” Narsas said indifferently, taking a sip from his cup. “He’ll understand if you keep treating the prince with respect, there’s no need to call him out.”</p><p>Daryun refused to admit that Narsas had hit the target with his last remark. Instead, he commented:</p><p>“The boy is naïve… he just relaxed when you said Shapur was going to stay as <em>marzban </em>here.”</p><p>“He doesn’t even know what happened after Shapur left,” Narsas’ voice also held a huge dose of incredulity and a sliver of contempt. Daryun nodded, agreeing with him. He added with a sigh, “Maybe he just knows that Shapur wouldn’t act to ruin this country, and by that he’d be right. His heart holds more trust and faith that I’d be capable of having. I admit I like that of him. What was that phrase Sericans say…?” He asked Daryun.</p><p>“‘<em>Do not employ the suspicious and do not suspect the employees<a href="#_ftn2" id="_ftnref2" name="_ftnref2"><strong>[2]</strong></a></em>’.” It was an old Serican teaching on how to manage a household. After all, a country was just a big household.  </p><p>At first, he hadn’t agreed with using hostages to keep Shapur controlled. Without Andragoras or his heir, the country’s political stability relied on Pars. Shapur, for all the courage the man had, wasn’t prepared to assume such a task. He wouldn’t risk a civil war just to get whatever little independence they’d gain by revolting.</p><p>However, mountains were unmovable, but the heart of a man was not.</p><p>He understood the need to make sure that the work they had done to liberate Badakhs wouldn’t be in vain. Many soldiers had bled their blood on foreign lands and had lost their lives away of their homes for a cause that wasn’t theirs. The least Daryun could do was ensure that their death wasn’t in vain.</p><p>A soldier arrived then with a message for them.</p><p>“Your Majesty, lord Narsas, the envoys from Darwaz have arrived.”</p><p>General Javad and Shapur’s brother. If the messenger was calling them ‘envoys’ instead of ‘army’, then Esfan had convinced Javad to leave his forces at Darwaz. At least that was a good new. Daryun and Narsas exchanged a relieved gaze before Daryun turned to the soldier.</p><p> “Ask them to witness the announcement.”</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Narsas </strong>
</p><p>Kishim was a beautiful city. Settled in a deep valley, with mountains at the north and rivers and rich pastures at east and west, its grey walls and slender buildings were truly a sight to behold. When the dusk cast a warm light over the city, Kishim looked like a refuge for tired feet, a soft gem in the embrace of the mountains. Narsas had felt his artistic soul inspired by the sceneries and had created many pieces since they’d arrived.</p><p>The buildings were made mostly of grey stone from the mountain mines. The city had wide, stone tiled streets, where merchants set up the market and sold their goods. Like Ecbatana, Kishim was a city that relied mostly on merchants and commerce. Instead of the Great Continental Road, Kishim had a unique position that connected Gilan Port in the south, Sindhura at their north and Pars in the west. It was one reason Sindhura had coveted the territory for so long, but the high mountains that separated both countries had a harsh, stormy weather most of the year which had preserved their country for centuries.</p><p>Though, of course, there was a mountainous pass that allowed Sindhuran merchants to reach Kishim. For all they were often at war, in times of peace both countries needed to make money to go to war in the future.</p><p>Merchants and importers used Kishim as the place to exchange merchandise. Gilan Port was still the only port in the continent that Serican ships used, a neutral territory governed by a council of merchants. Pars caravans often went to Kishim to acquire Serican import goods and Sindhuran spices, before going back to Ecbatana, the central city of the Great Continental Road, that connected Turan, Sindhura, Maryam, Pars and Misr.</p><p>Or at least, they used to, before Andragoras dragged the country to incessant battles with Sindhura. No merchant and caravans would like to get caught in a potential conflict, so they had mostly avoided Kishim in recent years, taking instead a detour to Zebak to do business. Zebak was a small city under <em>marzban </em>Manuchehr’s jurisdiction, and Badakhshan’s turmoil in the recent years had made it flourish.</p><p>Kishim, instead, had tale telling signs of the decay that accompanied the impoverishment of the country and the fevers outbreak from a few years ago. The roads and the houses needed fixing, and the entire city had a certain smell of waste that made Narsas’ nose screw in disgust.</p><p>But it was the people who best reflected the state of the country. The listless, consumed faces Narsas had seen everywhere. Boys as young as twelve serving in the military to feed their families. The clothes, sewn and repaired over and over, of people who couldn’t spare a single coin for anything that wasn’t the most basic necessity.</p><p>All contrasting with the round faces and bellies of the nobles he had jailed in the castle’s dungeons.</p><p>Badakhshan was a small country compared to their gigantic neighbours. Without strict policies, like Gilan, or the support of someone stronger, like Maryam, it was a matter of time that they fell prey to a bigger, fiercer enemy.</p><p>Andragoras had merely sped up the process by letting the society rot and the corruption run wild while he was at war. However, the level of corruption and festering that Badakhshan had reached hadn’t been achieved by his two-decade reign alone.</p><p>Narsas had a lot of work to do before they went back to Ecbatana.</p><p>His head run full of thoughts and plans while he contemplated the crowd in front of the castle. Badakh <em>wuzurgans</em>, <em>azadans </em>and <em>azats</em>—those who had been convinced to come out, at least—had looked at them with a whole range of expressions, from anxiety and fear to suspicion and even anger. There were a few whose clothes and standing spoke of a better position, maybe minor officers, merchants or scholars, but most of them wore modest clothes, cotton and wool, even though it was still the beginning of spring.</p><p>Many others had refused to come, convinced that Pars was planning to massacre them all. Luckily, Shapur and general Javad’s arrival had been enough for some to attend. Narsas needed the common people to spread the word faster, to have all the people know Badakhshan was going to change. The sooner they accepted it, the better. It would make Narsas’ job easier.</p><p>To make the crowd feel more at ease, they had kept the soldiers patrolling the area to a minimum. After all, with Daryun there wearing his armour and fully armed, who needed guards?</p><p>All the <em>marzbans</em>, <em>framandars</em> and 100-man commanders were also present for the announcement. The civilians kept a wide distance between the generals and them, eyeing their weapons suspiciously. They hadn’t been allowed to bring weapons, and even if they had slipped in one, Narsas expected Pars’ officials, all of them leaders of many men, to protect of themselves. </p><p>Daryun had stood in the centre of an improvised platform, Narsas slightly behind him. When it had been the turn for the prince to climb on the platform, Narsas had held out a hand for the prince. It would have been unsightly for Daryun to help, and his action would tell the crowd that they held appropriate respect and deference for the prince.</p><p>It was the first time he actually touched the prince, though. Narsas snickered internally, thinking that it was ironic that he was the first to have skin to skin contact with his friend’s betrothed. It was a pretty hand for a man, Narsas thought, the skin fair and the nails short and clean. He himself liked to keep his hands clean and well cared for too. Still, the prince’s skin was cool and clammy. When Narsas let go of his hand, he noticed a thin, pale scar on his forearm, a few inches long.</p><p>Shapur had acted as the announcer. He had communicated in both Parsian and Avestan, and his voice had been strong and resonating as he talked to the people. As a <em>marzban</em>, he wasn’t a seasoned politician, but after years of cheering his troops, he knew how to sway a crowd with his words.</p><p>His voice hadn’t faltered when he laid out the reasons for which he had sought for a new master to serve, nor when he reminded them of the crimes Andragoras had committed against them.</p><p>“Do you remember Karvan?” Shapur had shouted, his face twisted with rage. “Karvan’s only wrongdoing was to be in the borders with Sindhura! Five thousand people! Men, women, children and elders! All dead! Not only did Andragoras fail to defend them, but he also took out his rage on them! Innocents, dying an early death for a madman’s failure!”</p><p>Karvan had been one of the tipping points for Shapur. Andragoras lost the territory to Sindhura, and under the pretense of “leaving nothing for those black dogs to use”, he had burned the village to the ground. Shapur hadn’t been there, but he had witnessed the aftermath.</p><p>Narsas didn’t miss the tight fists at the prince’s sides.</p><p>As expected, Shapur’s words rose a wave of unrighteousness and frustration among the crowd. Years of crimes committed against them, the memories of the tombs they had dug in the last years, the pain and the injustice they had suffered for decades in silence resurfaced now that the weight of their fear was lifted from their shoulders.</p><p>Even though Shapur might have not convinced them at first, people were reluctantly hopeful that the change may actually be good for them. For one, Pars’ fast development from war-stricken wasteland to a prosperous country was well-known in the continent.</p><p>Secondly, Shapur had previously served as a generous and valiant general in Badakhshan. His moral code was at the same time admired and ridiculed for its strictness. When he had left the country, many had sighed, thinking that the general’s action was understandable; Andragoras had pushed him too far by asking him to put an innocent girl to death. Others thought that their revered general had finally betrayed them and his values for a better life elsewhere, somewhere richer, freer. Again, they couldn’t find it in themselves to blame him.</p><p>Discovering now that their general had gone to look for someone better to lead them had moved most people. Even if some couldn’t rid themselves of their doubts and suspicions, it was good enough for Narsas to work with.</p><p>The whole time, Daryun hadn’t said a single word. He didn’t need to, for his fame was also well-known even in the remote villages of Nimruz. Their shah was fierce on the battlefield, and there had been no man yet who had been successful after challenging him. The shah of Pars is a just and honourable man, people murmured in the taverns. He fears nothing and will defend his people to death. Look how he drove those Lusitanians dogs away.</p><p>Just these two people were enough to set a good foundation for their management of this province. Narsas was sure that there remained people loyal to Andragoras, particularly from the army. There had been men that had followed Andragoras since he was a young captain in Kishim. Those people, Narsas couldn’t afford to let them live.</p><p>The change of government was well received. Their prince’s marriage, not so much.</p><p>When Shapur had announced that Pars would be in charge of Badakhshan, people had turned their gazes at prince Arslan. Their eyes had spoken volumes of hope and expectations, so Narsas knew he hadn’t been wrong.</p><p>Narsas had signalled Shapur to continue when he noticed the man hesitating for the first time since he had started the announcement. It wasn’t as if Narsas didn’t expect his reluctance, and, in this case, it served his purposes.</p><p>“His Highness, prince Arslan,” Shapur had said, making the eager eyes turn to the prince, “w-will marry His Majesty, shah Daryun of Pars, as a gesture of eternal trust and alliance between Pars and Badakhshan.”</p><p>The hint of indecision, the slightest sign of wavering in his stoic face, the drop in his voice volume, had all been perfect. Narsas couldn’t have been more satisfied with the result.</p><p>Men and women had stared at their prince, dumbfounded and shocked. A man marrying a man was strange enough, but a marriage among male <em>wispuhrans</em>?</p><p>Narsas nudged Shapur to complete the information for them.</p><p>“His Highness will receive the honourable title of first rank <em>harci</em> by His Majesty’s generous consideration,” the <em>marzban</em> said, gritting his teeth.</p><p>This only led them to more confusion, as murmurings sparked in the crowd. Only a few had understood what <em>harci</em> means, and troubled news travelled fast among the people, leading them to look at them with their eyes wide and slack mouths, as they tried to get their heads around the concept. So His Highness wasn’t just marrying another man… To add salt to injury, he would be less than a spouse. Half a spouse, if one pressed the matter.</p><p>Half the title, half the respect and half the care the shah had to give him. After all, the shah had to take a wife at some point, didn’t he? Maybe he had one already! How could this be possible? Wouldn’t this end the royal bloodline of Badakhshan?</p><p>Narsas could see their train of thought in their consternated and dismayed expressions. Some had immediately grasped what the prince’s marriage would mean, others were still struggling with the concept of a <em>wispuhran </em>marrying a man as a lowly concubine. Some were trying to gauge what this would mean for them, others raised concerned eyes towards their young prince.</p><p>Still, none of them said anything in the end. Maybe some did care about their prince, and the injustice that it was to have him married forcibly to the invaders. To be forced into a dishonourable position, a disgraceful status of someone kept for fun, like a pretty trophy won in a joust. Narsas had seen tears, both shed and unshed, in the eyes of the attendees.</p><p>Things may be different if their sons, husbands, brothers weren’t in Parsian hands.</p><p>Badakhshan was a heavily military orientated country. Everyone had family in the army, which were currently prisoners of war. Some had perished in Dorah Pass, but most of them had made it back alive; Narsas had spread the word of their safety.</p><p>Which meant that Pars was holding someone of their family hostage. Who would dare to speak up in the prince’s defence and displease the Parsians? After living under Andragoras’ yoke for two decades, they were wary of displeasing the rich and the powerful, too many lives lost for petty causes. Besides, it wasn’t as if their prince would die, was it? He would still lead a comfortable life, even if at the cost of his dreams and freedom, wouldn’t he?</p><p>The announcement ended uneventfully. Daryun and the prince donned their capes and mounted on their horses for the victory parade around the camp. Tonight, there would be a celebration, and they would announce Parsian victory for all the other countries to hear.</p><p>Under normal circumstances, Narsas would have joined them.</p><p>After the <em>azadan </em>and the <em>azats</em> had gone back home, and the Parsians had returned to their own posts, only two people had remained there.</p><p>One was a man in his fourth decade, tall and thin, with grey hairs on his temples, and thick eyebrows. A long scar crossed the left side of his face, from his temple to the corner of his mouth. The other, a young man with blond hair in a low ponytail and unmistakable sharp eyes slanting upwards, a faithful image of Shapur’s own eyes. The man sported a hand print clearly marked on his left cheek and a split lip, that made Narsas raise an eyebrow.</p><p>General Javad and Esfan.</p><p>“I wish for a private talk, lord <em>framatar</em>,” the general had said.</p><p>Ah. Daryun had already left. He still had a pile of work waiting for him on his desk and a half-finished painting in his room. Damn it, he had a ceremony to plan.</p><p>Narsas hid his hands in his sleeves, already drafting in his head a proposal for a three-day break for the <em>framatar</em> once they got back to Ecbatana. He would force Daryun to sign that.</p><p>With sweet plans in mind, the smile he offered the general was sincere.</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p> </p><p><a href="#_ftnref1" id="_ftn1" name="_ftn1">[1]</a> Badakhshan’s official language.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref2" id="_ftn2" name="_ftn2">[2]</a> This is a real Chinese saying, “用人不疑，疑人不用”, that basically means what Daryun says.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hi, guys! (o^▽^o) I'm back with chapter 4! It took longer this time because the announcement scene wasn't coming out well, so I took my time rewriting it (and I'm still not 100% satisfied, maybe I'll edit it once I finish the fic). But since that's out of the way now, we go back to twice updates a month! (Reminding those interested that subscribing means that you don't miss the next chapter!) </p><p>Going now to things I want to tell you! </p><p>1. Thanks so much to all the people that left a kudo, bookmark, subscription, comment! All of them are little things that feed my writing soul. Thank you for taking the time to read my story! And I love your comments! (´꒳`)♡</p><p>2. We've been going nice and slow in this first part so we settle where Arslan come from. We'll have a basic understanding of him, and each of the characters will have a opinion of him, after which they'll depart. After that, things should get faster! </p><p>3. From what I understand of Arslan Senki, they have a rigid hierarchy and social order. They have a huge deference for Arslan in canon because of his title as a prince, even if he's 14 years old. That, I'm taking into this fic too, which means that Daryun has the highest position right now in the continent. Everybody gives him deference, Arslan included, and Daryun expects it. </p><p>4. I'm not quite sure how concepts such as honour and dignity worked in Ancient Persia. Tanaka takes a lot of vocabulary, but he sometimes use it differently from their original use (info by the translation blog out there, I've no idea of Ancient Persia, or Japanese). I'll try to keep to the terms he used in the novels (again, taken from the Heroic Legend of Arslan Translations blog) and add what I find interesting. I try not to step into territory I don't have a good grasp of. Sadly, literature is hard to find.</p><p>5. That's why the concepts of honour, dignity, freedom, humilliation, punishment might not be new (I think it'd be hard to come up with something completely new by now, we humans have lots of imagination), but they probably aren't historically accurate to what we call "Ancient Persia". Instead, they might be more aligned with Chinese values, whether I agree with them or not. </p><p>6. I write about a topic and I let the characters express opinions, but I might not share said opinions. 〜(＞＜)〜</p><p>Thank you all for coming to a new update, and welcome to new readers! See you all in the next update (changing to Saturdays because it works better for me): <strong>20th February </strong>.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Loyalty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Based on manga events: chapter 91 now!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chapter 5: Loyalty</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Framandar Heydar’s report. 16<sup>th</sup> day of the 2<sup>nd</sup> month (Year 325). From the Military Records.</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>As per framatar lord Narsas’ order, marzban lord Khwarshed oversees the liberation of the prisoners. All soldiers are informed of the current situation in Kishim and of the peace treaty, and agree to collaborate before their release. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>A few disturbances around the camp are quickly solved by marzban lord Shapur and marzban lord Kishwad. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>No disturbances in shah Andragoras’ cell, though he keeps saying nonsensical things. </em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Marzban Shapur’s report. 16<sup>th</sup> day of the 2<sup>nd</sup> month (Year 325). From the Military Records.</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Framatar lord Narsas and I oversee the welcoming of general Javad and his companion, commander Esfan. General Javad agrees to collaborate with Pars and to submit a detailed report of the current situation in Darwaz as soon as he returns to his post.</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Jaswant </strong>
</p><p>Those cowards had bound his hands and feet after the third time he had tried to escape.</p><p>“Stop making a ruckus, black dog!” One of them had hollered, pressing a wet cloth to her swollen eye.</p><p>It would’ve been annoying on any day, but his frustration was reaching new peaks every time those Parsians caught him and shackled him again. He had no time to lose with them! His Highness might be in mortal peril!</p><p>He had only slept for brief moments the night before, seeking every potential opportunity to escape. He kept a menacing gaze on the guards, but they had by now learnt not to take chances with him. Only the thought of His Highness’ disappointed eyes had refrained him from killing every soldier he got his hands on when he had got free of his shackles.</p><p>The skin on his wrists and hands were so scrapped by his efforts to release himself that he had just stopped bleeding. He’d have to wait for his opportunity, lest the guards caught sight of his blood and noticed that he was freeing himself again. Jaswant was usually a patient man. And he would be, if he hadn’t left His Highness in the hands of Parsians the day before. Just the thought of it made bile rise to his throat, and he shook his head, trying to rid of the memories of Parsian torture tales.</p><p>Though nothing he was feeling now compared to the despair, the fiery burn of denial that had consumed him when a deserter on the road to Darwaz had told him Parsians had captured the prince, but that there was no news on whether he was dead or alive. Jaswant had instantly turned back, asking the man to please carry His Highness’ message to general Javad. He hadn’t even wanted to consider the option of his master being already dead, his eyes lifeless and his body cold by the time Jaswant could reach him, because Jaswant hadn’t been there to protect him.</p><p>As he infiltrated the city, he had made it to the temple where His Highness was to seek refuge. It was a non-written rule in the continent, that no army shall invade the temple of Sorush, the angel Herald of Fate. Thus they’d served as refuges for common people when nobles hid in castles behind sturdy walls.</p><p>There, the children had told him Parsians had taken His Highness alive. Jaswant had almost cried his thanks there. Then it had taken him the whole night to know where His Highness was held. His rescue, however, had been lousy at best.</p><p>He tried to take comfort in that His Highness had been alive a day after his capture. The blond man he had seen in the tent had asked him strange questions about his master’s activities last year in the mountain villages. Parsians may have a use for him, since they hadn’t killed him on sight, and were asking all sorts of questions about him. It didn’t matter. As long as His Highness was alive, they could turn the situation around.</p><p>He just had to get free, rescue His Highness, and bring him to general Javad. He had met the general once. His kind demeanour had given him a good impression of the man, and he remembered distinctly that he had also treated His Highness with respect and even affection. He’d help His Highness retake what was rightfully his. </p><p>For now, they had left him next to other Badakh soldiers. The men had just looked at him tiredly when he had tried to escape the first time, but now weariness had turned into frank irritation because his nocturnal attempts had also prevented their sleep.</p><p>However, their exasperation seemed momentarily forgotten as they tried to get as close as possible to gossip under their breaths. Jaswant had been in Badakhshan for two years, but his grasp on Avestan was still basic. Most people understood and spoke some degree of Parsian, the most spoken language of the continent, so he had never bothered much with learning. Yet, there were words he’d be able to understand no matter what.</p><p>“<em>They say… His Highness…</em>”</p><p>Jaswant approached them as much as he could.</p><p>“<em>You say ‘His Highness’</em>?” He asked awkwardly.</p><p>The soldiers exchanged a glance; they recognised him as His Highness’ <em>retak</em>. One soldier sitting close to Jaswant moved, as if he was relaxing his legs on the floor, getting closer to him discreetly. His Parsian was crude, but understandable.</p><p>“They say His Highness marries the shah of Pars if he… umm… gives pardon to all the soldiers and helps Badakhshan.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Jaswant couldn’t wrap his head around the information. His master couldn’t have possibly…?</p><p>“True, true. When you escape,” Jaswant ignored pointedly the accusatory tone of the soldier’s voice, “the Parsians come. On horses. That shah goes around the camp, and His Highness rides behind him, free. So it’s true.”</p><p>The man went back to murmuring with his comrades.</p><p>It must have been the Parsians victory parade, Jaswant realised. It was an old tradition, carried out in all the countries in the continent, though it had been years since a country last invaded another so completely as Pars had done to Badakhshan.</p><p>His Highness… had he really promised himself to the shah for their lives? Jaswant didn’t need to think much to get to the conclusion that his master would definitely do it if it involved saving lives. He knew perfectly how far the young man would go. Not bothering to repress a groan, he pressed his forehead against his knees. His bound hands didn’t let him press his palms on his face, but oh, how he wanted to, thinking of His Highness’ selflessness.</p><p>Yet, it all looked strange to him. Why would Pars accept the prince of a defeated country as the consort of their shah? He knew that his master’s beauty was unparalleled in Kishim, and possibly in Badakhshan. Maybe the shah had fallen for his master so much that he had been willing to offer the lives of the prisoners of war as a betrothal gift?</p><p>No, that couldn’t be right. He had gotten a good look at the shah’s face the day before, and nothing in the hard angles of his face, nor in the darkness of his eyes had suggested of an infatuation, or even a liking to his master. His Highness had even knelt to stop him! Just the memory of his master, a young man of noble heart and high virtue, having to kneel to that beast was like a dagger piercing his chest, his eyes prickling his frustration.</p><p>Besides, they had tried to throw him in the same cage as His Majesty! Jaswant was sure he lost months of his life when he saw them putting the prince in the shah’s cage, and a few more when Andragoras tried to strangle him. </p><p>Something wasn’t right. Maybe His Highness’ life was still in danger, forced somehow to collaborate. He needed to get free as soon as he could. His master may still need his help!</p><p>The Parsians were going around with the afternoon meal. They gave each of the prisoners a piece of bread, and Jaswant wasn’t the exception, eating furiously as soon as he got his share. He was going to need every bit of energy he could get to free himself, so he wouldn’t waste the food.</p><p>“Yes, that’s him.”</p><p>That what was Jaswant heard before someone pulled his arm and made him stand, the last bite of bread falling to the floor and snatched by the prisoner next to him. Immediately, Jaswant tensed his body and tried to shake his arm free, but the damned Parsian had a good grip on him.</p><p>“Him? He’s a nasty piece of work,” said the soldier, grunting.</p><p>Ah. Jaswant had left her with a black eye last night. By now, it had swollen so much that she couldn’t open it.</p><p>“Yeah, I know,” replied a young man dryly, putting a hand on his side. Jaswant recognised his honey coloured hair as the one who was holding His Highness’ chain yesterday. The young man turned to him and said, “His Highness wishes to see you.” In an instant, Jaswant stopped trashing and tried to judge whether he was lying to him. “If you behave, I’ll take you to him.”</p><p>…</p><p>Bring him to the executioner’s block, more likely. He wasn’t stupid. Jaswant knew perfectly that the only end for him for daring to attack the shah of Pars was death. If he let the Parsians bring him to another place, his head would end up separated from his body.</p><p>Still, he had no other choice than to follow the young man, with four soldiers coming along. They had released his feet, and if he approached him and choked him with the chains that bound his hands, maybe he could use him as a hostage…</p><p>However, they didn’t bring him out of the camp as he had expected, taking him instead to the gigantic tent he had assaulted the day before. Surrounded by the Parsian army, all escape attempts would be fruitless, so Jaswant hadn’t tried.</p><p>Jaswant’s heart was beating furiously in his chest, galloping like a wild horse, and beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. His hands were gripping the chains tightly. If he tried it inside of the tent, maybe he could avoid the eyes of the rest… tensely, he stepped inside of the tent.</p><p>All thoughts fled him when he saw his master, sitting on the floor next to a low table.</p><p>“Your Highness!” Jaswant exclaimed, rushing towards him and kneeling next to him.</p><p>Anxiously, he checked his master’s face and body, looking for new wounds, but found none besides the finger marks on his neck. The sight of them made his stomach churn, but at least they didn’t look serious. He noticed they had also let him bathe and had given him new clothes.</p><p>The prince was smiling slightly, letting him check for his peace of mind, and his tranquil expression set Jaswant’s heart at ease. With a sigh of relief, he settled back. Then he noticed the other occupant of the table.</p><p>The shah of Pars was a formidable man, especially up close. Yesterday, he didn’t have time to notice how imposing the man was, with his black armour and his broad shoulders. His robust arms and the scars that littered his skin spoke of a man that had been to a thousand battles. The shah was currently polishing his sword; the metal gleaming threateningly in the tent.</p><p>Yet, no matter how strong he was, it wasn’t his physique what made Jaswant wary, but his dark eyes, that seemed to be always on guard, like a wolf eyeing its prey.</p><p>Cautiously, Jaswant tried to shield his master with his body, ignoring his attempts to pull his clothes to make him stand down. He tensed even more when the man rose menacingly with his sword in hand, but contrary to what he expected, the shah sheathed his weapon.</p><p>“We’ll be having dinner with general Javad tonight,” the shah said.</p><p>Jaswant jolted, surprised. General Javad was there? He flashed a look at the prince, who didn’t seem as surprised as Jaswant was.</p><p>“Jimsa and Elam will stay here with you, and they’ll escort you back once you’ve finished.”</p><p>“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Arslan said, his voice neutral.</p><p>With no more words, the shah left Jaswant and Arslan alone, with only a tall soldier with a baby face and the young man that had led him there as guards. The four soldiers that had accompanied them there had left already.</p><p>He took a moment to examine their surroundings. The tent was obviously for the use of someone with a high station, big and spacious. Besides the low table they were currently next to, in a corner of the tent and on top of a thick crimson carpet, there was a high chair on a central platform, and a screen that separated the front part of the tent from the back. The material was clear, letting the natural light enter from the top, but not overly transparent.</p><p>The tall soldier was sitting next to the door, the only visible exit, and the young guide was sitting on the platform, far enough to give them a sense of privacy, but close enough to overhear their conversation.</p><p>Jaswant’s eyes glinted. This was their opportunity… he had just to take out the tall one sitting next to door. His guide wasn’t an opponent for him. If he was quick enough, maybe he’d accomplish it without attracting the attention of the guards patrolling outside.</p><p>“Jaswant,” the prince called him, warningly. After being with his young master for so many months, he was finely tuned to the tones of his voice. He was telling Jaswant not to be reckless. “Please, take a seat.”</p><p>“Your Highness?” he asked, out of sorts, but obeying nonetheless. He settled right where he was, sitting on the floor in front of his master.</p><p>Arslan took one of Jaswant’s hands, observing with forlorn eyes the lacerations on his wrists. Before Jaswant could try to comfort him, the prince took a deep breath and said:</p><p>“Jaswant, this morning I signed a peace treaty and a contract with Pars. Badakhshan will now become Parsian territory, and I’ve agreed to a marriage with the shah of Pars. We’ll be leaving for Ecbatana after the ceremony.”</p><p>The prince’s words mixed and turned around in his mind, making no sense for a long moment. As he slowly reacted, he could feel tears surging to his eyes. So his master had really signed a treaty to save their lives… that was why he was also alive, instead of decapitated, his head exposed on the castle walls?</p><p>“Lord <em>framatar </em>and His Majesty have promised me you’ll be pardoned for attacking them,” the prince continued. “So you have nothing to worry about.”</p><p>Jaswant nodded. He had expected as much. Raising his head again, he looked at the calm expression in the prince’s eyes, the soft smile and the relaxed curve of his eyebrows, and nothing told him the prince resented the marriage. Instead, he seemed ready to accept it, sitting languidly with Parsians watching him.</p><p>Even if his master didn’t feel perturbed, a flame of bitter resentment rose to his chest, burning his heart. This shouldn’t be how His Highness’ marriage was decided. A man as good as his master deserved to choose whom he wanted to marry, and to marry happily with someone he liked wholeheartedly. Someone who could make the young man smile and laugh, who gave him warmth and respect, not the cold beast he had seen a few moments ago.</p><p>He had worried for long, for he knew many men coveted the alluring beauty of his master’s features. More than once, Jaswant had even chased off men who dared to touch him. He had been determined to let his master choose who he wanted to be with.</p><p>In the end, Jaswant hadn’t been able to protect this small piece of freedom for him.</p><p>“Your Highness, do you truly wish to marry the shah?” He asked. If his master gave the slightest sign of refusal, he would…</p><p>Arslan just shook his head with a resigned smile.</p><p>“I know you mean well, Jaswant, but I’m convinced this marriage will be good for Badakhshan,” he reassured him. “In barely a day, lord <em>framatar </em>could pinpoint the problems Kishim has had for a long time. He has many ideas and projects to better this country, and he has the shah’s support. I trust them to make Badakhshan prosper, and if all they ask is that I marry the shah, I don’t think is a high price at all.”</p><p>His master had missed his point completely. It wasn’t the first time he misinterpreted one of Jaswant’s questions, but this time it frustrated him to no end. He was going to explain himself further, ignoring the huff from the Parsian soldier watching them, when the prince interrupted him to say:</p><p>“That’s why, Jaswant, I think you should go back to Sindhura.”</p><p>The Sindhuran froze, as if the prince had poured ice water on his head. Immediately, an anxious sense of incredulity surged up, and he leaned closer to the prince.</p><p>“What does Your Highness mean by ‘going back to Sindhura’?” He asked, his mouth feeling dry as if he had eaten a mouthful of sand. As he did so often when he was talking with someone, Arslan took one of his hands into his.</p><p>“I’m not coming back to Kishim ever again, Jaswant,” he murmured, his voice merely a thread of sound, but not faltering. Even if his eyes were downcast and Jaswant couldn’t see his expression well, the unusually low voice made his heart hurt as if an iron hand was squeezing it. “I’ll be going far away, farther from Sindhura. You don’t have to follow me so far. I’ve asked His Majesty, and he agrees to let you return.” Jaswant was going to retort, but Arslan kept talking. “Sir Mahendra wanted me to help you go back, and I’ve already kept you by my side for two years. This is a good moment to let you go back to Sindhura, to your sister’s side.”</p><p>Wrong. The prince was mistaken. Even if sir Mahendra’s name still made his chest hurt as if a thorn was lodged in his heart. It wasn’t His Highness retaining him, but Jaswant’s genuine desire to stay by his side.</p><p>His emotions now were a far cry from the discomfort he felt the first time they had this conversation.</p><p>That time, when Jaswant had only been serving him for a month, he had brought Nowruz<a href="#_ftn1" id="_ftnref1" name="_ftnref1">[1]</a>’s pastries, pieces of fruit and a set of small dishes with meat and vegetables on a tray to the prince’s bed. By then, Arslan could sit on the bed and the fever had subsided already, but he hadn’t recovered enough to get out of bed and join the rest in the kitchens for the New Year’s celebration, so Jaswant had brought a tray to share with him.</p><p>They had eaten together, the sweet food and the easy conversation making Jaswant more comfortable than he had ever been in the presence of a noble. Arslan spent the meal asking about the recent news of the city while he had been indisposed. Jaswant had answered at the best of his abilities. He didn’t understand yet then why it was important for the prince to know about the fever of the cook’s youngest son, or if some steward had gotten the blessings of a stable-boy’s father for their marriage. The questions had been even more puzzling from a boy that could barely eat five bites without stopping.</p><p>His Highness was his saviour, and he truly wished to repay his life debt to him, but it was like owing money and knowing that he should return it.</p><p>So when the prince had suggested to help him cross the border and return to Sindhura, Jaswant had refused.</p><p>“Please, Your Highness,” he had said obligingly, “let me stay by your side. Your generosity deserves my eternal gratitude, and it wouldn’t be proper if I left when you’ve just recovered.”</p><p>“Alright,” Arslan had sighed, finally bending to his insistence. “If it’s your wish, I’m more than glad to have you as my <em>retak</em>.”</p><p>As long as you never push me to act against Sindhura, Jaswant had said.</p><p>But in the months that passed since then, Jaswant comprehended why it was important for his master whether the baby of the cook had a fever, or whether the steward married the stable-boy. He had perceived that the good man that had saved him was a rare finding in the realm of the living, away from the saints and the gods, and that Jaswant would probably never find another master like the prince.</p><p>Jaswant was proud to serve him.</p><p>Unless his master didn’t want him by his side anymore, not even he could make Jaswant go away.</p><p>“Your Highness, Jaswant refuses to leave,” he said after considering the matter. Arslan had also stayed silent the whole time, letting him reflect. His loyalty gave him enough peace to speak with his master unhurriedly and steadily. “Lady Salima received the rajah’s pardon and protection, and lives in the mansion she shared with prince Gadhavi. She doesn’t need me back. But Jaswant wants to serve Your Highness, for as long as you want me by your side, and not even faraway lands will deter me from doing so. I think sir Mahendra would understand.”</p><p>Arslan shook his head, his brow furrowed.</p><p>“Jaswant, you don’t have to pay me back for anything. You’re free to go back.”</p><p>“By your graciousness, Jaswant was free to go the first day Your Highness took me in. Jaswat stayed out of duty then, to repay your kindness, but now, wishes to keep serving Your Highness. Even if Jaswant didn’t owe Your Highness a life debt, he would still follow Your Highness to wherever you go,” Jaswant said. Even if it was to marry the enemy that had taken his home from him, he thought darkly. His conviction only grew when he tried to imagine what grievances his master might suffer if he were to be alone in a foreign country.</p><p>“But you won’t be able to visit sir Mahendra’s grave,” Arslan insisted, his brow furrowed.  </p><p>“Respect is kept in our hearts and Jaswant will remember him in my prayers. Sir Mahendra wouldn’t want me to stay by his grave and ignore what my heart wishes to do.”</p><p>“Jaswant, I know you miss Sindhura,” the prince didn’t relent.</p><p>“In Sindhura, no one waits for me. The land alone holds no feelings, but the people that live upon it. Jaswant won’t find a better master anywhere else.”</p><p>There was a brief silence. Jaswant was sitting with his palms pressed into his knees, quietly awaiting his master’s answer. His brow was furrowed, but it said nothing about what the prince might be thinking. His hand, however, opened and closed several times on the table.   </p><p>“Do you truly want to come with me?” Arslan asked, his voice a little choked.  </p><p>“Yes. It’s Jaswant’s most sincere wish,” he answered honestly.</p><p>The prince stayed silent for a moment, but in the end, he could do nothing but cave in at Jaswant’s earnestness. The affectionate smile Arslan gave him with his eyes wet made Jaswant feel warm, mirroring his expression. It would be hard for Jaswant to regret following the prince, he thought earnestly.</p><p>His master turned to the young man sitting away from them, who was looking at them with honest curiosity. As if caught, he turned his gaze away as Arslan turned.</p><p>“Elam, would it be possible to bring Jaswant with me to Ecbatana?”</p><p>“I’ll ask lord Narsas, though I don’t think he’ll mind it,” said Elam.</p><p>“If Your Highness is going to be the consort of your shah, bringing along a <em>retak</em> isn’t so preposterous, isn’t it?” Jaswant said with a laugh, glad that sending him back to Sindhura was no longer on Arslan’s mind.</p><p>His smile froze at the prince’s troubled grimace.</p><p>“About that…”</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Narsas</strong>
</p><p>That night, they met in celebration for the end of the campaign.</p><p>Narsas had taken out another caftan he had brought along for the occasion, a heavy piece in deep blue and silvery embroiders on the rims. It always pleased him to dress up, especially for joyous occasions.</p><p>While he had been preparing his attire, Elam had recounted the prince’s meeting and brought the prince’s <em>retak </em>to him. Daryun had agreed to let the man go back to his motherland, but the Sindhuran had refused their offer. How curious the amount of loyalty the prince inspired, Narsas mused—a Sindhuran refusing to go back to his birthplace.</p><p>“He was terribly displeased when he learnt the prince was going to be His Majesty’s <em>harci</em>,” Elam commented, holding up the caftan for Narsas. “He almost broke the table when the prince told him.”</p><p>“And prince Arslan?” Narsas asked, putting his arms into the sleeves.</p><p>“What about him?”</p><p>“Did he seem unwilling?”</p><p>Elam contemplated the question while he retrieved his master’s boots from the trunk.</p><p>“I wouldn’t say he was happy,” Elam answered carefully, “but he didn’t look resentful either.”</p><p>Narsas nodded. It was good enough for him. He didn’t forget that the apparent acceptance may be all a stratagem, a remote but still conceivable possibility. If it was, he had to solve the issue before they performed the ceremony. After that, it would be more difficult to untangle the knot.</p><p>“Tell prince Arslan that he can bring the Sindhuran to Ecbatana.” Hopefully, it would also help to ease general Javad’s worries.</p><p>Ah, the good general Javad. The man wouldn’t leave a powerful impression on Narsas in any other day, but this time his support and cooperation were decisive in the end of their campaign, which meant that Narsas would remember him.  </p><p>“So you’re the one who has been colluding with my foolish commander,” the general had said as they settled in the Royal Office. He had a deep voice, paired with a collected expression.</p><p> “Yes,” Narsas said, pouring <em>nabeed</em> for the general. <em>Though it would be more accurate to say that marzban Shapur had been colluding with his brother</em>, he thought.</p><p>Esfan, as the other representative of Darwaz, stood behind his general’s seat, while Shapur stood beside Narsas. Both men had merely looked at each other when they had met, their faces straining to contain a thrilled smile and shaking nervously. Yet, while their meeting wasn’t over, their professionalism bound them. Narsas would check that both brothers sat together that night, as they had much to catch up.</p><p>“This stupid boy has told me everything,” the general said, pointing at Esfan, “including Pars’ plan to annex Badakhshan and His Highness’ marriage to His Majesty the shah of Pars.”</p><p>“That is correct,” Narsas confirmed, when the man said nothing after a while. “I assume sir Javad agrees to cooperate on our terms, if you’ve come without your army,” he said. There was no need to beat around the bush.</p><p>Javad would keep his authority over Darwaz and his position as a general, as long as he offered a full report on his forces and pledged his loyalty to Pars. He would be under Shapur’s direct orders, as the highest Parsian representative in Badakhshan. While most of the time he would be only protecting his region, if Pars needed their forces, they’d have to offer their full support.</p><p>If the general found unthinkable to collaborate with Pars, they’d allow him to retire. However, his family and he would no longer be allowed to remain in Darwaz, even if they would spare their properties and their lives. Esfan had been of the opinion that they wouldn’t come to that, and it seemed he was right, even if there had been some… initial disagreements, as his face showed.</p><p>The proud general sighed and nodded. He had even brought a copy of the contract Narsas had passed to Esfan already signed.</p><p>“This wasn’t the change we were expecting,” the general said with another long-suffering sigh, lacing his fingers over the table, “but a change has been long overdue.”</p><p>“Oh, how so?” Narsas inquired curiously, taking a sip from his cup.</p><p>“Look at this city,” Javad had said, peering out of the window with a mournful look in his eyes. “It’s the capital of Badakhshan, the biggest and richest city of our country. Yet we can find beggars in every street and diseases and poverty strike the <em>azadans </em>and the <em>azats,</em>” Javad was a man grown in the old traditions, which meant that <em>ghulams’ </em>suffering may had not even occurred to him. “I heard that last week a farmer threw his newborn child into a well because their family couldn’t feed another mouth.”</p><p>Narsas’ hand twitched. He kept facing his guests, and when he rose his eyes, he saw himself reflected in the dark, burning fury he saw in Esfan’s eyes.</p><p>“Shah Andragoras never cared for the ailments that afflict his subjects,” Narsas said dryly, “nor there was a good foundation to deal with these problems. Badakhshan’s situation is only to be expected after decades of neglect.”</p><p>Javad merely nodded, deep in thought.</p><p>“That’s true. That’s why we hoped… we hoped things would be different when His Highness inherited. And then, we realised that our hope would never come to be if we left the matter in His Majesty’s hands,” the man added bitterly.</p><p>Narsas raised an eyebrow.</p><p>“Did it never occur to you to take the matters into your hands?” he asked curiously. As the strategist he was, he should never say things that could plant the seed of a rebellion in new retainers. However, he sincerely doubted that the idea had never occurred to them.</p><p>Javad laughed good-naturedly, but the fierce gleam in his eyes told a different story.</p><p>“Of course,” he said, sure as a lightning. “But, at first, His Highness was too young, too many factors interfering in his potential. So we merely nurtured him, trying to raise him into a fine ruler. Then, the fever outbreak demanded all of our attention and resources, and the last war with Sindhura. So, when I asked His Highness again last year, he said that a civil war would destroy Badakhshan,” Javad said, his eyes unfocused, as if he was remembering his talk with the prince. “I thought we’d have a few years more,” he added sourly.</p><p>Narsas’ eyes glinted when he heard the first part. After meeting Arslan, he had asked Shapur about the prince’s childhood, but the man knew only what common people knew already.</p><p>Merrily, he poured the general another cup of <em>nabeed</em>, and toasted again with him before asking.</p><p>“I thought His Highness had grown up in Kishim?” he said casually.</p><p>Javad huffed, taking a long sip and setting down the cup.</p><p>“I fostered His Highness for a few years when Her Majesty, lady Tahamenay, passed away,” he said, frowning. “I came to Kishim when I heard Her Majesty wouldn’t make it through her illness. After her funeral, when I was leaving, I bumped into His Highness’ wet nurse. She was carrying His Highness and her daughter with her, and a letter from lady Tahamenay, asking me to take care of the prince. She thought Darwaz would be far enough to protect the prince.”</p><p>“It didn’t worry you to displease the shah?” Narsas asked, pouring another cup for the general.</p><p>The man looked at him, irritated.</p><p>“I’ll answer lord <em>framatar’s </em>questions, but please stop trying to make me drunk,” he said.</p><p>Behind Narsas, Shapur let out an awkward laugh.</p><p>“<em>Who offers a cup is a friend, who offers three is a thief</em>,” he said. Narsas threw a questioning look to him, to which Shapur added apologetically, “it’s an old Badakh saying.”</p><p>Narsas archived that saying in his mind, quietly thinking that it was clever. He set down the jug with an apologetic smile.</p><p>“Then, about His Highness…?”</p><p>“We had all heard about lady Tahamenay’s last wish,” Javad explained. “For all His Majesty had an iron grip around her, he never ignored the few words she said to him. So I took the prince and his wet nurse and stopped in a midway inn. I had taken them away in broad daylight, in front of the gates. They’d know where he was. Only when no one came after us, I took them back to Darwaz.”</p><p>Narsas nodded, quietly musing over the information. Javad’s decision at the time had been careful enough. Maybe the queen had known enough of him to trust her child with him. Around them, Shapur and Esfan had also remained silent the whole time while Javad had been talking.</p><p>“So, lord <em>framatar</em>,” the general intoned. Narsas hadn’t expected him to keep talking, so he looked up. Javad was gazing at him, his eyes never leaving Narsas’ face and rolling the bronze cup between the fingers of right hand. “I met His Highness when he was only seven. A mere child, whose mother had just died, had just witnessed how his so-called father raised his sword against him and tried to kill him. That child asked me if my face hurt,” he said, pointing at his scar, “and years later, he meddled to save a stupid boy that dared to take part in a martial competition even though his face is the splitting image of a traitor’s.”</p><p>Both Esfan and Shapur tensed. Esfan curled his hands into tight fists, pressing his arms to his sides. Narsas couldn’t see Shapur’s reaction, but his furrowed brow was easy to imagine.</p><p>“If it had been any other, or if it was just His Majesty, I’d have simply closed the gates of Darwaz and declare ourselves separated from Badakhshan,” the man spat out. “Don’t you Parsians think we don’t understand why His Highness was chosen to marry your shah.”</p><p>Narsas merely smiled. Years of tense negotiations and dangerous meetings made him almost insensitive to the pressure. If he had gotten a sniff of this, he would have changed Shapur for Kishwad, for his <em>marzban</em> wouldn’t completely take his side if a fight broke out. He put his hands into his sleeves as he used to, caressing the handle of the dagger he had strapped to his arm.</p><p>“We never meant to hide our intentions, general Javad. We simply saw it as the easiest way to avoid more bloodshed,” Narsas said calmly, his smile ever present, leaning back. “Quite an intense reaction, for someone who meant to use the prince to achieve your goals as well.”</p><p>As he had guessed, the general’s expression took a tint of embarrassment, momentarily off balance. The man closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, his mouth was still set in a hard line.</p><p>“We did plan to use His Highness,” Javad said behind his teeth, making a fist around the bronze cup, a clanging sound grating their ears as he pressed, “but our goal was also his goal. He isn’t any less of my ward even if he left my care years ago. And I swear, if I ever find out that His Highness has a single hair out of place in Ecbatana, I’ll make Pars as miserable as I can in Badakhshan.”</p><p>The general threw the deformed cup on to the table.</p><p>There had ended their lovely meeting. The general’s reaction was only to be expected, since it was that same fury and impotence what Narsas had wanted to invoke when he drafted the marriage contract.</p><p>Over the years, Narsas had learned how to use carefully the emotions of the people around him to weave the tapestry that was Pars’ stability and prosperity. Whether they were heart-warming or dark and chilling, he had made them all work for him. Javad’s outburst didn’t worry him.</p><p>While he was reminiscing about his meeting, he had finished preparing and Elam and he had arrived at the dining room. It was a large, spacious room with a long table that most probably had been the banquet room. The guests had already arrived, Narsas being one of the last to arrive, and the sound of conversation filled the room.</p><p>The table had twenty seats, with the food and the silverware already prepared. Some young soldiers were serving the food and bringing enough <em>nabeed</em> to drown a horse in it. After all, alcohol made it easier to create closer ties.</p><p>Their guests tonight were their <em>marzbans</em>, general Javad, Esfan, prince Arslan and some other remaining captains and commanders from Kishim. Daryun was already there, having changed into a short tunic in dark wool, which contrasted starkly against Narsas’ rich blue caftan. He sat on the head of the table, with Arslan as the guest of honour at his right. The Sindhuran had been freed of his chains, and his wounds taken care of, clean bandages on his wrists. He was spotless, from his turban to his straw sandals.</p><p>Prince Arslan was wearing the crimson caftan Elam had given him in the morning. As usual, Elam’s work was perfect, it suited him as if it had been done to his measures. The colour was a stark contrast against his pale skin and silvery hair.</p><p>Like blood on pristine snow, Narsas thought distractedly.</p><p>Narsas took his seat at Daryun’s left and eyed his friend discreetly. He couldn’t help a smirk when he noticed his gaze fixed on Arslan. He raised a cup to his mouth to hide the smile.</p><p>Most of the guests were silent. The old general, particularly, had been as tense as the string of a bow since he had arrived, no doubt thinking about their meeting. Moreover, they were still subjects of an intruded kingdom eating with their invaders, which meant that the reticence and mistrust were very much afloat on the surface. The same happened to the rest of the Badakh guests, and their anxiety and nervousness reflected on the <em>marzbans</em>, making them unable to relax, fearing an attack.</p><p>Since all the guests were present, Daryun stood up and offered a toast. The rest of them followed his example and stood as well.</p><p>“Thank you to all the presents for coming to this joyful celebration. I, Daryun, feel honoured to be in the presence of so many brave and accomplished men,” he said, his voice resonating powerfully in the room. “I have no words to express the deep gratitude I feel for the opportunity Badakhshan has gifted us with. You have my word,” he said, raising his cup towards the officials from Kishim, “Pars will prove worthy of your trust. We will work to build bridges of trust between us in the days to come, for now we are all brothers of the same land. For the peace and prosperity for Pars and Badakhshan!”</p><p>“For the peace!” Everyone clamoured and emptied their cups.</p><p>“Let the performers begin,” Narsas murmured to Elam.</p><p>Narsas worked hard through the dinner to ease everyone’s tension and loose their posture. He let Daryun manage the conversation with Arslan, Javad and Shapur, and he focused on the lower-rank captains and commanders. Javad had ordered Esfan to stay back. Lots of <em>nabeed</em>, wonderful food and music and dancers Narsas had brought from Zebak eventually let the Parsians and the people from Kishim mingle satisfactorily to Narsas’ standards.</p><p>Kishwad was an obvious choice for these settings, the man invoked sympathy among the people. Farhad had an astounding alcohol tolerance, an agreeable companion for those who wanted to get as drunk as possible. He had left Khwarshed in charge of the camp. The man’s disdain for anything that wasn’t Parsian would work against them in this case.</p><p>“Oh, commander Gerdak,” Narsas smiled, offering a toast to a burly man drinking alone in his seat, “I’ve heard from lord Shapur that you’re in charge of the area around river Kunduz? He told me you’re most skilled with a spear!” …though you wouldn’t stand a minute against Daryun, he added internally. But the commander’s surprise, his mouth opening at the thought of being remembered by a general of Shapur’s caliber, was what he was searching for.</p><p>The good thing about military men, Narsas thought, was that their hearts were usually simpler, having witnessed life and death too many times to care for superficial things. There was less in-between in the scale of people with kind intentions to people with evil tendencies. The politicians in the court were usually more complex to deal with, because their desires were often not as plain and uncomplicated.</p><p>When, finally, <em>tahir </em>Kishwad was singing loudly Parsian popular songs to the beating palms of Badakh officers, their tongues and laughter loosened by the alcohol and the good food, Narsas returned to his seat, tiredly taking a sip from the cup Elam was offering him. Everyone, including Daryun, had drunk plenty of <em>nabeed</em>, but he had none to retain his senses in case something came up.</p><p>While Daryun wasn’t as proficient as Narsas in managing social and political events, over fifteen years as the shah of Pars showed a more than adequate skill in holding conversations and entertaining guests. Arslan, Javad and Shapur were also honest and straightforward men, which meant that Daryun should find their conversation enjoyable.</p><p>As expected for Daryun, the talk versed about weapons, and they had warmed up enough for the conversation to flow easily.</p><p>“If His Majesty has any interest in seeing it,” Javad was saying, his face split in a wide smile, “it’d be my pleasure to show you my long bow and let you try a few shots with it!”</p><p>“That’s a deal,” Daryun agreed, raising his cup towards him with a grin.</p><p>“You should be careful, sir,” Shapur said, with a fierce smirk, “His Majesty’s strength might break your bow.”</p><p>“That would be a sight to be seen,” Javad laughed.</p><p>“Lord Javad’s bow has a great fame in Badakhshan,” Arslan said with a smile. “It’s been years since I last saw lord Javad shoot an arrow myself,” he added, tilting his head towards the man. Said general’s face was completely red and whatever inhibitions he had before had disappeared by now. Arslan said with a smile, “you’re still unable to hold your liquor, lord Javad. I think you should let Jaswant take you to your room and rest, or you’ll have a terrible headache tomorrow.”</p><p>The general grunted. Between the cups he had shared with Narsas and the <em>nabeed</em> he had during dinner, he had drunk much more than he usually did.</p><p>“I’m going to have it anyway,” he groaned, “but His Highness is right. I should take my leave before I embarrass myself.”</p><p>Javad stood, but as soon as he tried to stand, he fell again on his chair. Ever attentive, Narsas told Elam to accompany Jaswant and help him get the general to the guests’ chambers. Before they left, Javad halted, as if he had just remembered something, and faced the prince.</p><p>“By the way, Your Highness, Shahir will arrive in a few days.”</p><p>“Oh, really?” Arslan said, his face illuminating with a delighted smile. From the looks of it, the alcohol had also loosened the prince’s stance, and his cheeks dusted with faint pink spoke of a tad too much <em>nabeed</em> for the prince as well.</p><p>“Who is Shahir?” Daryun asked.</p><p>“He was His Highness’ tutor for a few years,” Javad answered. “The old man insisted on coming with us, but he can’t ride a horse, so he had to follow on a route suitable for carriages.”</p><p>Narsas had no problem with a teacher visiting his former student, especially one that was going to leave the country for good.</p><p>“Um, Jaswant,” Arslan called before they were out of the room, “there’s no need for you to come here once you settle down general Javad. I’ll be leaving soon too, so go back and rest.”</p><p>“Yes, Your Highness,” the man said, gritting his teeth.</p><p>Elam had told Narsas that the Sindhuran insisted on sleeping at his master’s door. As his <em>retak</em>, he had always slept near him, in case he needed anything during the night, he said.</p><p>When Narsas had been in Sindhura, he had noticed that the servants slept at their master’s doors, on the floor. It seemed that Jaswant served the prince the same way. He might allow it in Ecbatana, but there was no way he would let them alone during the night now, with only Jimsa to keep an eye on them. Instead, Narsas had agreed to let him rest in his old room in the servants’ area, and Jimsa would lock the prince’s room at night.</p><p>Narsas rested his back tiredly on the back of the chair, closing his eyes and nursing a cup of tea Elam had brought him. The rest of the guests were also retiring for the night. When the <em>marzbans</em> bowed their heads to Daryun, Narsas internaly called it a night. Only Daryun, Narsas and the prince remained in the room, along with the servants that were clearing the plates.</p><p>“That man… Jaswant, he seems very important to you,” Daryun blurted, just as Narsas was about to tell them to leave for the night. It would be a lie to say that the <em>framatar</em> wasn’t interested in where was this conversation going, so he snapped his mouth shut.</p><p>Arslan had been with his eyes closed, waiting patiently for Narsas to give him permission to leave, but he opened them lazily and faced Daryun.</p><p>“Yes, of course,” he said, dragging out his words. “He’s been at my side for years.”</p><p>His answer didn’t seem to be what Daryun was looking for.</p><p>“You even knelt for him,” the shah said curtly.</p><p>Arslan merely sighed and threw a tired look to him.</p><p>“Was it significant because I, Arslan, knelt, or because the prince of Badakhshan was kneeling?”</p><p>His answer threw Daryun off balance.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“If “Arslan” kneels, I am merely a man asking Your Majesty to spare another man’s life. If the prince of Badakhshan kneels, is a nation’s representative asking Your Majesty to consider your decision before carrying it out.”</p><p>“But there’s no difference,” Daryun said, his brow furrowing as he tried to get his head around it, “you are the prince of Badakhshan.”</p><p>Arslan simply waved his hand, shaking his head at the same time.</p><p>“No, no,” he said, slurring a bit. “I am Arslan, and I’m borrowing the title of prince of Badakhshan. It’s… it’s like a mantle I can’t take off,” he said, patting the caftan Narsas had lent him. “This title is like a mantle… if I can’t use it to protect the life of one person of this kingdom, what would I want it for?”</p><p>Daryun’s frown deepened, shaking his head as well. Narsas understood why he was feeling so confused. It was rare, after all, to encounter a <em>wispuhran </em>who hadn’t had their title since a young age. More often than not, “shah” or “prince” wasn’t an empty title, a position to be filled, but part of their very identity. Daryun had been shah of Pars since he was twelve. Asking him to be only “Daryun” again, like the prince was suggesting by saying that he was “Arslan” first and prince of Badakhshan second, would be plainly impossible.</p><p>Narsas couldn’t help but add his own piece, contemplating the content of his cup.</p><p>“But the marriage between you two only has value because it’s the prince of Badakhshan marrying the shah of Pars, Your Highness,” he said. “Wouldn’t then “Arslan” be paying for the sacrifices the prince makes for Badakhshan?”</p><p>To be fair, it impressed Narsas that the <em>nabeed</em>-induced haze had only made him sluggish and lowered Arslan’s usual restraints. If he didn’t take advantage of this opportunity, he’d be ashamed of himself.</p><p>“What is “Arslan” compared to the well-being and the prosperity of Badakhshan?” He said, resting his face on his hand.</p><p>“It’s still a man’s freedom what’s being sacrificed for the kingdom. Didn’t Your Highness use your title to save one man’s life yesterday? Or is Jaswant’s life more valuable than yours?” Narsas asked, relentless.</p><p>This question prompted a giggle from the prince. Both Daryun and Narsas blinked perplexingly, exchanging a glance. Daryun hadn’t stopped staring at Arslan. He was far soberer than the prince and couldn’t see where was the funny point.</p><p>“You’re supposed to be a wise man, lord Narsas,” Arslan chuckled drunkenly, “how can you compare his life to my marriage? There is no way to put them both on the same level.”</p><p>“Men have died for less,” Daryun sneered coldly.</p><p>His voice had a cutting edge that Narsas recognised. His own expression darkened. Not too long ago, the Lusitanians in one of the last cities they had retaken, had chosen to kill themselves after throwing their children off a cliff instead of surrendering to Parsians. By then, many cities had already fallen, and Parsians had respected the lives of the captives. They hadn’t even forced them to convert or to abandon their faith.</p><p>Yet the thought of humiliation and defeat to “<em>heathens</em>” and “<em>barbarians</em>” had been enough for them to murder their own blood. Some of the children had been embraced by their mothers as the women jumped to their deaths with them.</p><p>A dirty stuffed toy was all they had found by the edge of the cliff.</p><p>Arslan, however, didn’t notice the tense aura that had befallen the other two. His head had slowly slipped off, until his head was pillowed on his arms, half lying on the table. His hair splayed on his shoulders, like a silver curtain that hid his features from them.</p><p>“At least my life can be of use if I marry,” he mumbled, his voice half muffled by the fabric of his clothes.</p><p>Daryun tensed at once when he heard it, turning his head away. No doubt he was remembering what Narsas had told him that same morning: the prince would never choose death if he felt that his life might be of value to his people. Narsas stayed silent, letting his friend digest what the prince had said. Daryun was glaring at the knife that rested on the table, caressing the ivory handle.</p><p>The silence stretched for a moment, the clinking sound of plates and silverware being cleared off the only thing that could be heard.</p><p>“And what would “Arslan” do with his life if not pressed by the duties of the prince of Badakhshan?” He grunted, not looking up.</p><p>Narsas just sat there, sipping his tea, wondering when Daryun would notice. He didn’t have to wait for long.</p><p>A soft snore was all Daryun got as an answer. Arslan had fallen asleep on the table.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>A day later. Far from Kishim, in the borders of Pars with Misr </strong>
</p><p>“What did you just say!?”</p><p>“K-Kishim has fallen, sir. Pars has taken Badakhshan,” answered a small voice, trembling and huffing from the travel to bring back the news to the man sitting in the centre of the room.</p><p>“And general Pedram?” The man asked apprehensively.</p><p>“Dead, sir. He died when Parsians took Kishim.”</p><p>There was silence for a moment, the pants of the messenger resonating in the dark. The next second, the man dashed to the floor the ceramic teacup he had been holding, the tea splashing and the pieces of ceramic flying everywhere. The noise was completely out of place in the tranquil night that could be seem through a tall window.</p><p>“FUCK!” The man shouted. “Fuck! Damned Parsians, sons of bitches! Fucking useless Andragoras! Can’t he even defend the capital!? For fuck’s sake!”</p><p>Following the teacup was the chair he had been sitting on, the vase from a nearby table and even said table. Pieces of furniture and various things continued to fly all over the room as he kept screaming, the messenger covering his head and yelping as a decorative plate grazed him.</p><p>Suddenly, the raging man caught the messenger by the shoulders, pulling him until he was standing.</p><p>“What about the bastard!?” He howled, spit showering the messenger’s face.</p><p>“W-who?”</p><p>“Arslan, that cursed bastard! Is Arslan dead?”</p><p>The messenger swallowed, sensing that his answer wouldn’t please his master.</p><p>“N-no, Arslan is going to marry the shah of Pars a-as his <em>harci</em>,” his voice grew quieter as the raging fury he saw in his master’s face grew like a fire out of control.</p><p>The man pushed him; the messenger falling back on the floor. Immediately, he scrambled back up, getting on his knees in front of him.</p><p>“How can that be?” He snarled, the half face that wasn’t covered by a bandage contorting as he frowned. “Explain.”</p><p>He paced back and forward, taking deep breaths as he heard the messenger recount the battle in Dorah Pass and the treaty signed between Pars and Badakhshan. His figure, though obscured in the dim candle-lit room, was a tall and imposing, with sleek, dark hair. He covered half of his face with a thick bandage that left his right eye peek through.</p><p>“Bloody good-for-nothing coward,” the man said, gritting his teeth, when the messenger told him everything. “He’s indeed Tahamenay’s good son.” He bit his thumbnail nervously, as he kept thinking how he should act now.</p><p>His carefully drafted plan was as good as ruined, now that Pedram had died and Parsians had taken control of Kishim. From what the messenger had told him, none of the old generals had survived the battle, and he couldn’t trust Javad, since the general of Darwaz had heeded Tahamenay’s last request.</p><p>“Ask him to come back,” he said finally, leaving swiftly. The messenger tailed him as he left the room. “We are changing plans.”</p><p>Hilmes had no time to lose.</p><p> </p><p><a href="#_ftnref1" id="_ftn1" name="_ftn1">[1]</a> Persian  New Year, celebrated in various countries around the world. It falls in March equinox, usually March 21st. It’s the first day of the first month (Farvardin) of the Iranian solar calendar.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Happy Lunar New Year! Happy Ox Year!  (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟI hope you all have a very good year and that your family and you are healthy and well! </p><p>Thanks to the people who have taken the time to read this story, and especially to those who have left a bookmark, kudo, comment! Kudos to you too! o(≧▽≦)o</p><p>About today's chapter, I'll just comment on Jaswant's speech. I wanted to make each of the languages clearly differentiated. From my experience, when people learn a language in a non-academic way, besides accent, grammar tends to be a hurdle. What I've seen most frequently is people taking their mother language's grammar and try to make it fit the other language. </p><p>Now, I'm pretty sure Jaswant's Parsian is quite good, for a commoner's standards. However, I thought that patterns in Sindhuran (if I remember correctly, Sindhura is based in the Indian subcontinent) might carry to his speech in Parsian. Addressing oneself in thir person (illeism) was—and is—commonly used to impart humility, like master-servant relationships. So, when talking to his master, Jaswant refers to himself in third person.</p><p>And we see Hilmes for the first time! What will happen here? (￣▽￣)ノNow we are approaching the time they leave Kishim! Don’t think of these chapters as fillers, this background is necessary!</p><p>My next update: <strong>6th March</strong>! See you then!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Shahir</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Based on the manga (chapter 91 now!). </p><p><strong>Terms update! </strong> I previously struggled to find the demonym used for Badakhshan. I skipped around it when I could, but now that I've found it, I've edited all the chapters till now with the new terms. </p><p>Badakh or Badakhshani is the demonym used in Badakhshan. I'm sticking with Badakh. </p><p>Avestan is the language spoken in Badakhshan (in this story). I previously called it just Badakhshan's language and went with it, but I found an article about Old Persian (which is... Parsian?). Avestan is, to be very very brief, related to it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chapter 6. Shahir.</strong>
</p><p><strong>Jimsa’s report to Narsas. </strong> <strong>17<sup>th</sup> day of the 2<sup>nd</sup> month (Year 325).</strong></p><p>
  <em>The prince went around offering his condolences to the soldiers’ families after the funerals. He said to some of them things out of the ordinary like:</em>
</p><ul>
<li><em>He offered to the son of them a recommendation to a blacksmith in Darwaz searching for an apprentice. </em></li>
<li><em>To a wife, he said his retak would give them some money a few days later. </em></li>
<li><em>To a widow who lost her only son, he said she should talk to a woman called Ilya. </em></li>
</ul><p>
  <em>I find these most suspicious, and request lord Narsas’ instructions on what I should do next. </em>
</p><p><strong>Narsas’ answer: </strong> <em>Keep watching him. </em></p><p>
  <strong>Daryun</strong>
</p><p>It was only three days later that Daryun got time to meet with Javad in the training camps of Kishim’s army grounds.</p><p>After the battles came the upsetting job of cleaning up behind and setting the foundation for their management of the new Parsian province.</p><p>The day after the celebration, Daryun had led the funerary procession to bury the fallen soldiers in Kishim’s cemetery. They had chosen a spot facing Ecbatana, as tradition dictated for soldiers who died away from their homes, so their souls watched over their homeland forever.</p><p>Arslan had led his own men, who carried the bodies of their fellow soldiers. Their families had trailed after them, the sound of their cries and sobs and the bells and drums of the priests the only thing that they could hear in the mountains while they buried the dead. </p><p>Thinking about the funerary rites, Daryun couldn’t help but remember the conversation he had with the prince in his tent while they had been waiting for Jaswant.</p><p>One of Kishwad’s <em>framandars</em> had been the one to consult him about the matter.</p><p>“Your Majesty,” the <em>framandar</em> glanced at the prince sitting in front of the shah dubiously. Daryun had waved his hand to say that it was fine, so he continued, “we have brought back the bodies. What should we do?”</p><p>Daryun frowned pensively. They had been in a hurry to reach Kishim as soon as possible, so they had left a team behind to pick up the bodies of their fallen comrades. That, added to the people who had died after from their wounds, would need to be settled. It would take a month still before they went back to Ecbatana, and they couldn’t let the corpses rot.</p><p>However, burying them near Kishim seemed like a bad idea.</p><p>“I’ll talk about it with Narsas.”</p><p>He was going to add that they should cover the bodies, for it may take a couple of days to find a suitable place, when Arslan’s soft voice interrupted him.</p><p>“If I may, Your Majesty…” With Daryun’s nod, he said, “Kishim’s cemetery is in the mountain behind the city. If you don’t mind, it would be a suitable place. I can ask the priests of Verethragna to offer a eulogy for them.”</p><p>Daryun threw an incredulous stare at Arslan’s composed face, the <em>framandar’s</em> mouth similarly falling open.</p><p>“You would agree to it?” Daryun asked, raising his eyebrows.</p><p>“Of course,” Arslan shrugged half-heartedly. “The cemetery was enlarged a few years ago. I think there will be enough space.”</p><p>That wasn’t the point of his question.</p><p>“Those men fought to achieve the death of your…” <em>father </em>Daryun was going to say, but he bit his tongue in time, “shah.”</p><p>Arslan’s expression wasn’t so composed anymore when he answered, a small crease in his brow.</p><p>“His Majesty Andragoras has committed many sins, which have dragged him down to his demise. Those men have nothing to do with his wrongdoings, nor have they planned his fall. They deserve respect in their death.” The prince cleared his throat and glanced away from Daryun, “though I have a request of my own.”</p><p>That was more like it, Daryun sneered. Much more comfortable with the thought that the prince wanted to get something out of it, he leaned back and raised his hand.</p><p>“Go ahead.”</p><p>He noticed the prince was holding his left hand with his right so hard that his knuckles were white. When he looked back up, the prince’s eyes were fixed on his.</p><p>“I suppose many of my men have fallen as well in Dorah Pass,” he said slowly, “and no one has picked up their bodies, since the rest of the army was taken prisoner.”</p><p>Ah.</p><p>The feeling of his stomach hardening suddenly was so foreign that for a second Daryun couldn’t identify what that was. It had been a long time since the shah of Pars felt embarrassment, after all. Though it was understandable in his opinion. It had been a long time since they won a battle so thoroughly that no enemy soldier was left on the battlefield to pick up the bodies of their fellow soldiers.</p><p>He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again. What could he say?</p><p>“I would like His Majesty to allow a group of my people to take their bodies back,” Arslan said with his jaw set and a furrowed brow. It was the first time Daryun heard frost and ice in the prince’s voice. Blinking, he realised this was no request, but an order. “We may bury our men together. We’ve all lost someone in Dorah Pass and the mourning belongs to us all.”</p><p>Stunned at the prince’s tone—how long had it been since someone had dared to order Daryun around?—he had ordered the <em>framandar</em> to do as he asked, calling for his own soldiers to accompany them with carts. After that, Arslan had said nothing more to him.</p><p>Daryun had mused over his words while they waited. He hadn’t been sure about what he’d ask for in exchange for providing a solution to a pressing matter, but it hadn’t been… that. The prince of a defeated country thought that the pain and the misery of losing family and friends united them all…</p><p>The more he thought about it, the more astonishing he found his words. A reminder that your enemy is also human, a person capable of suffering and feeling pain—wasn’t precisely that kind of empathy and understanding what Daryun wanted to achieve between Pars and Badakhshan?</p><p>The idea could very well backfire if the prince didn’t hold the tolerance necessary to be the bridge his people needed. Yet Daryun had no doubt that the prince would rise valiantly to the challenge.</p><p>Indeed, Arslan hadn’t disappointed him when they carried out the rites the next day. He had been as busy as a bee, going back and forth, offering his condolences and his help. His expression, while pained, didn’t have traces of anger.</p><p>Fights broke out between the grieving families and Parsian soldiers, but they had been mediated successfully. Daryun had expected that much, and it relieved him no one had lost their life in the frenzy of the fights. The looks of sympathy each party had thrown to the other had been new, though.</p><p>New and strangely heart-warming.</p><p>He had a much better grasp of what Narsas may have seen in the prince to decide to go for a marriage after a single day.</p><p>However, the prince didn’t seem suited for the frostiness he had displayed in the tent. By the time he had seen him again at night, none of the coldness remained, melting into warm smiles and soft words again.</p><p>Under the candles’ light, the beaming smile and the rosy cheeks had been particularly alluring. One could say that Arslan himself shimmered warmly, like a pearl in the dark night. His warmth and his drunken cheerfulness had made a strange heat radiate through his chest, a feeling of breathlessness when he took in the sight. </p><p>Daryun knew perfectly that the prince was one of the most stunning men he had ever met. Yet it was as if he was seeing him for the first time.</p><p>The symmetry and harmony of his features in his tent had resembled a sculptor’s art piece in both its perfection and artificiality—a cold beauty, like a marble and ivory sculpture. However, he had no use for coldness, more than used to the icy bite of the sword that accompanied him everywhere.</p><p>But who would have known that marble could be so warm? Once the prince smiled, he no longer resembled a cold statue, but the tender embrace of springtime sunlight.</p><p>A dark idea, like a coiled snake in the depth of his mind, had woken up while he contemplated Arslan’s half-lidded eyes and his barely open mouth, with his hair spread over his shoulders. A desire to feel his hair, to check if it was as soft and cloud-like to the touch like it seemed. An itch in his fingers to trace his features with his fingertips, wondering if the prince would tremble or lean into his hand. A hunger to press close to him and take in his smell.</p><p>He’d be his to take if he so wished once he married him. No one would expect differently, given the prince’s attractiveness. On the contrary, people would expect a night of passion, Daryun utterly ravaging the young man, to uphold his reputation as a powerful, vigorous warrior. </p><p><em>Nonsense</em>, Daryun thought disdainfully. He could still take on a hundred enemies by himself, even if he didn’t bed the prince. </p><p>Besides, he could imagine that the idea was less than favourable in Arslan’s mind, and Daryun had never been fond of forcing his attentions onto his partners.</p><p>“You desire him, you have him,” Narsas had said the night they arrived at Kishim.</p><p>Admittedly, Arslan differed greatly from the lovers he had had in the past. The last companion he had was an archer from Kubard’s army, a straightforward man, tall and lean. Before that, a stable hand with calloused fingers that cared for Shabrang. Daryun winced when he thought of him. That hadn’t turned out well.</p><p>A slender, graceful man was still a first, but Daryun wouldn’t reject outright the idea. He had eyes, for Ashi’s sake, and the way his body had reacted the other night didn’t lie.</p><p>Which was why he had been considering that he might have the young man in his bed after all. He would discuss it with him, especially considering their first night. Arslan would be rightfully a member of his household, and his favour might be beneficial for him in Ecbatana. After that, he should be careful with how much favour he showed him, but if Arslan pleased him, he wouldn’t mind occasionally indulging in his desire.  </p><p>Daryun would be lying if he said that the glimpses he had gotten of the prince’s gracious, benevolent soul hadn’t spurred his fascination with him. They had kept their conversations so far strictly work related, but the prince’s kindness and his devotion for his people were obvious in his words.</p><p>The day after the celebration, Arslan didn’t remember what they had discussed while he was inebriated, but he had admitted with a shy laugh that he agreed with what he had said.</p><p>“Even if it means having your right of choice taken out of your hands?” Daryun had pressed.</p><p>“It’s a choice I make willingly for my people,” Arslan had said nonchalantly, “so that no more lives are lost. I think I got the good side of the deal, even,” he joked.    </p><p>Offering one’s life for the greater good, he meant.</p><p>In that instant, Daryun remembered instead a young priest in Ashi’s temple, fifteen years old the year Lusitanians had taken Ecbatana. Under the enemies’ blade, he had quickly declared he would convert and reveal the location of the temple’s treasures if they pardoned his life.</p><p>If he had just offered the invaders the treasures, it would be alright… but he had also revealed the hiding place of the younger priestesses of the temple to get a favourable prospect with the Lusitanians. Some had been spared further torment and had died the night of the attack, but others had suffered for years in Lusitanian brothels before Daryun took back Ecbatana. Only a handful had survived enough time to point their fingers at the traitor that had sold his sisters out, a turncoat that had been working with the Parsian army as an accountant after they had retaken the city.</p><p>Daryun had taken the matter into his own hands, in a time they had yet to restore the court. The man confessed his sins and Daryun offered him a quick death.</p><p>And yet Arslan had asked: “<em>how can you compare his life to my marriage?”</em></p><p>How  could they compare someone’s life with a lifelong submission to others' power and loss of freedom?</p><p>The answer that sprung to Daryun’s mind was Lusitanian tales. Daryun had heard Lusitanian stories from those who stayed in Ecbatana. Besides the god they worshipped, they also revered their saints and martyrs. They told tales of a young man, a war prisoner of the southern kingdom. He had chosen to be tortured and executed rather than abandoning his faith and letting himself be touched by the emir. In another of their tales, a young woman had jumped from the roof of her home to escape from soldiers who wanted to rape her<a href="#_ftn1" id="_ftnref1" name="_ftnref1">[1]</a>.</p><p>Was there any difference between these people from Lusitanian stories and Arslan? They were all beautiful young people with firm beliefs in an invaded country. Between death and submission, they’d chosen the former.</p><p>It was hard not to see that while their faith had pushed those two people to seek their death, the devotion Arslan had for his country pushed him to the other side—to live a life many would find unbearable to live.</p><p>Yet the prince didn’t seem to comprehend why Daryun couldn’t understand that he would hold no resentment towards his fate. Or was he just a master hiding his unhappiness?</p><p>These thoughts were rampant in his mind while Daryun waited for Javad to take out his long bow and strung it. The sight of it grounded him in the present—it was truly a beautiful weapon, made with dark wood, horn and sinew and with delicate carvings along it. Immediately, his mind got rid of his gloomy thoughts and his attention focused on the weapon in front of him. He whistled appreciatively while he put on his gloves and strapped his bracer on his forearm.</p><p>“It’s my pride, the apple of my eyes,” Javad laughed, looking back at Daryun.</p><p>In the past days, they had shared enough meals that the general felt much more comfortable in their presence. Arslan was now much more relaxed with them too, now that Daryun noticed. Much more talkative and cheerful when he was surrounded by familiar people.</p><p>They were in the archery practice grounds, a set of old and worn-down targets placed progressively farther from the shooting line, 20 to 50 <em>gazs<a href="#_ftn2" id="_ftnref2" name="_ftnref2"><strong>[2]</strong></a></em> away. It was a good day for archery practice, a clear day with a few clouds, not overly bright, the soft breeze making the green grass under their feet sway. Groups of soldiers patrolled around the grounds, both Parsian and Badakh soldiers, some of them looking at them curiously.</p><p>“May I see a demonstration?” Daryun asked with good humour.</p><p>“Of course.” Javad reached to the table and picked up an arrow.</p><p>The general nocked the arrow and drew the bowstring, the muscles of his arm tensing at the weight. He aimed carefully, took a deep breath… and released the arrow.</p><p>Daryun followed the arc it traced in the sky with his eyes, against the clear blue sky, and watched hit the bullseye with a soft <em>thud</em> in the target at 40 <em>gazs</em>. He clapped with a smile and was about to compliment him when another voice stole the words from him.</p><p>“Good aim, lord Javad.” Arslan’s silvery voice reached them. Daryun turned, facing his bright smile. “Your Majesty, lord Javad.” He bowed his head.</p><p>Jaswant and Jimsa came after him, both kneeling before the shah and the general. Daryun nodded to both of them, tearing his eyes away from the prince. He discovered that there wasn’t really a place that reduced his attractiveness—the breeze gently blew Arslan’s hair, his bangs framing lightly his smile and the faint blush in his cheeks.  </p><p>“Your Highness!” Javad returned a bow enthusiastically with a smile. “A small trick, just showing my bow to His Majesty. Would you like to try it, Your Majesty?”</p><p>He offered his bow with both hands to Daryun.</p><p>“It’d be my pleasure.”</p><p>Daryun grinned with excitement, his attention returning to the bow.</p><p>Collecting and learning about all kinds of weapons was one of the few hobbies Daryun indulged in. No matter where he went, he visited the city’s armoury and sought the teachings of nearby masters. Kishim wasn’t any different for him, though he had yet to hear of anything exceptional besides Javad’s archery.</p><p>Daryun took the bow in his hands, weighing it in his hands. It was light enough to be carried to battle, and the materials were at the same time functional and aesthetically pleasing. Maybe he would request to have one made for him after all.</p><p>Nocking the arrow Jaswant had offered him, he tested the draw weight and marvelled when he checked he required a considerable strength to draw the bow. Eagerly, he got into the proper stance, drew the bow, aimed and released.</p><p>The arrow described a perfect arc in the sky, and landed in the first inner circle of the target, a palm next to Javad’s arrow. The general and their audience clapped effusively. Even Jaswant had to look twice at the target, but in the end he joined the rest with his teeth clenched.</p><p>“Good!” Javad clapped with fervour, his sight fixed on the target. “Your fame is well-deserved, Your Majesty! There are few men who can actually use this bow!” The admiration in his voice was clear. He raised a hand to block the sunlight from his eyes and watched the target again. “And with a great aim in your first try!”</p><p>Daryun merely smiled, gazing at the target too. Rumours said that the shah of Pars could use whatever weapon he had in hand. It had spread when he had ordered a spear modelled after a Serican <em>fang tian ji<a href="#_ftn3" id="_ftnref3" name="_ftnref3"><strong>[3]</strong></a></em>, which he had used against Sindhuran war elephants. Around the same time, the name <em>shersenani</em> was circulating among his enemies, and they had made good use of both.  </p><p>“I’d need more time to get familiar with this bow,” he said modestly, “but it’s indeed a formidable weapon. Such a heavy draw weight was unexpected for a bow of this size though. I suppose it helps the arrow reach long distances?”</p><p>With an interested audience, the general got into a passionate description of the technical aspects of the bow that differentiated it from other bows. Daryun smiled amusedly, Javad’s passion was evident whenever he talked about archery, and it never failed to melt away the coldness with which he usually treated Narsas and him.</p><p>While Javad was still immersed in the advantages of using sinew in a bow structure, Daryun caught Arslan’s fond gaze looking at Javad. It was an expression he had often, especially when the general ranted about archery. Probably feeling the shah’s stare on him, Arslan’s eyes locked with his, and he gave Daryun a warm smile.</p><p>Daryun whipped his sight away, focusing on the bow and Javad’s explanation, an unfamiliar ticklish feeling in his stomach. He turned so fast that he missed Jaswant’s frown and Jimsa’s amused snort.</p><p>“In fact, with proper technique, even the prince could draw this bow when he was just twelve!” Javad said proudly. Arslan blushed when both men turned their eyes on him. “May I be so bold to request His Highness to show his abilities?”</p><p>Arslan opened his mouth and raised his hands with an apologetic expression, ready to decline. Yet, when faced with Javad’s hopeful expression, he let his hands fall down and sighed.</p><p>“May I borrow a bracer and gloves?”</p><p>Javad readily gave him some spares from the equipment he had brought.</p><p>When the prince got into the proper stance, nocking the arrow with practiced ease, Daryun noted with surprise that Arslan used a different draw, pulling the bowstring with his thumb, and with his index and middle finger covering the thumb, reinforcing its strength. He had seen this type of drawn before, but that had been years ago, in Serica.</p><p>However—maybe because of the heavy draw weight or lack of practice—the prince’s arms were trembling as he drew the arrow. He couldn’t even draw it at its fullest before releasing, so, though it went straight to the target he had been aiming at, the arrow dropped steadily and ended up sticking on the ground.</p><p>“Ah…” Arslan’s face flushed up and he rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. It has been a long time since I last shoot.”</p><p>Was Daryun’s sight betraying him, or were the prince’s arms trembling almost imperceptibly?</p><p>Javad’s dejection was obvious in his face, but what surprised Daryun was Jaswant’s reaction.</p><p>“Your Highness, are you okay?”</p><p>“I’m fine, don’t worry.”</p><p>“No need to be upset over petty things,” Daryun said with a cutting voice.</p><p>He couldn’t help the surge of disenchantment. Was Jaswant so used to Arslan’s upset every time he failed to do anything that his first reaction had been to console him? He had thought that with the prince’s upbringing, he’d be over that pettiness <em>wuzurgan’s</em> children often displayed, but it seemed like it wasn’t the case.</p><p>Thinking to himself that no one was perfect, he swallowed down his disappointment. He ignored Jaswant’s defiant eyes as well, used already to his protectiveness over his master.</p><p> “Would you like to try again, Your Highness?” Javad asked. Like Daryun, he couldn’t hide his disappointment, but his expression was open and kind when he offered another arrow to him.  </p><p>“No, thank you,” Arslan answered politely, returning the bow, his eyes avoiding them. “By the way, lord Narsas sent me here to ask Your Majesty to go to his office to have your measures taken for the ceremonial attire.”</p><p>“His Highness is not a carrier pigeon,” Jaswant murmured darkly, ignoring Jimsa’s pointed look.</p><p>Ah. He may or may not have forgotten that Narsas had insisted in that he should get measured as soon as possible, so the seamstresses had enough time to finish his clothes for the ceremony. He pursed his lips, feeling like a child being told to go home when he was playing outside.</p><p>With a sigh, Daryun dismissed them with a last longing glance to Javad’s bow. He wondered when would be the next time he got time to play.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Arslan </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Two days later </strong>
</p><p>Arslan sitting on the windowsill of his new room, as he did so often lately. He had to admit that he rather liked it, even more when yesterday Jaswant had brought his belongings from his old room.</p><p>Funnily, the Parsians had looked as if they had swallowed a fly when they learned that his old room was in the service’s quarters. It was the room his nursemaid and he had occupied when he was young, one of the nicest rooms of the quarters. Luckily, it had been big enough for a second bed when Jaswant had come to serve him, or the man would have had to sleep on the stone floor even in the dead of the winter, when the snow piled on the grounds and they woke up with frozen window’s latches.</p><p>He was reading <em>“Rites and Ceremonies”</em>, a document that registered the protocol for all kinds of ceremonies in Pars. Narsas had advised him to get familiarised with the proceedings as soon as possible, so everything went smoothly in the ceremony.</p><p>Arslan had been at some weddings, but none had been a marriage between <em>wispuhrans</em>. Moreover, the ceremony to take in a <em>harci</em> was a far cry from a proper wedding ceremony.</p><p>The pantheon of gods was quite similar in both Badakhshan and Pars, though Tishtrya’s cult, the rain god, was more prominent in Badakhshan while Pars favoured Mithra, the god of war. Usually, people in both countries asked for Anahita’s<a href="#_ftn4" id="_ftnref4" name="_ftnref4">[4]</a> blessings in marriages, to pray for the goddess to bless the couple with many children.</p><p>However, the shah had received Mithra’s blessings in his birth, and they would ask a <em>kahina<a href="#_ftn5" id="_ftnref5" name="_ftnref5"><strong>[5]</strong></a></em> from Mithra’s temple to oversee their marriage as well. Since Arslan was a man, Anahita’s blessing was lost on him, and Mithra was also the god of oaths and loyalty. Very fitting for a marriage like theirs.</p><p>Narsas had told him that many people in Pars believed that the shah’s military prowess was because of Mithra’s protection. As a result, in recent years, couples sought Mithra’s blessings for their newborns instead of Ashi’s, as it was usual.</p><p>Narsas, Daryun and Arslan had found it funny. If gods could grant this or that to whoever asked them, humans would never have to go on war, or to work to get anything.</p><p>Or maybe, Arslan thought, his mind flying away from the arid descriptions of the rituals, gods try to fulfil humans’ wishes, and the disasters humans encountered were their wishes going one against another.</p><p>He closed his eyes for a second, resting his sight a bit from the minuscule letters on the parchment. He heard faintly the sound of Jaswant tidying up the room, and Jimsa chewing on the snacks he often sneaked into his room, despite Jaswant’s protests about the crumbs. Maybe he’d nap for a bit before his meeting in the afternoon…</p><p><em>Boom</em>!</p><p>The door opened uproariously, banging violently against the wall.</p><p>Immediately, Jaswant dropped what he had in his hands and pulled Arslan behind his back. Jimsa leaped forward, drawing out his sword, monitoring Jaswant and Arslan at the same time he got a good look at the intruder.</p><p>Who banged in was a man in his fifties, with grey hair and a cane held resolutely in his right hand. His face was as wrinkled as the rag Jaswant had been using to wipe the furniture, and his deep frown and contemptuous sneer didn’t help to soften his features. His slanted, dark eyes exposed his Serican roots, and were fixed on Arslan.</p><p>His murderous gaze and his stance were so familiar that Arslan felt himself relax for the first time since Parsians had invaded. Almost immediately he tensed up again when the man threw him a dark look.</p><p>“Oh, hi, sir.” Arslan waved his hand timidly. He pulled on Jaswant’s sleeve, “it’s alright, Jaswant.”</p><p>The first thing the man did while hobbling inside of the room was to point his cane at Jimsa.</p><p>“Keep that! You are going to hurt someone with that,” he growled at Jimsa’s dumbfounded expression. “I’m Shahir, that lord of yours must have told you about me. Fucking bureaucracy,” he said under his breath.</p><p>Jimsa’s incredulity didn’t lessen, even if he sheathed his sword again. Shahir limped through the room until he was right in front of Arslan. Jaswant had stepped back respectfully, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor. Arslan had told him before about Shahir, so his outburst didn’t take him completely by surprise.</p><p>“So you’re the Sindhuran.”</p><p>Once he had Jaswant next to him, Shahir observed him from the top of his head to the tip of his toes and back again. He snorted derisively, and Jaswant kept his eyes down, not knowing how to react to that.</p><p>“Well, well, too many fucking people in here! I thought I had asked for a private meeting, not a public speech!”</p><p>This definitely made Jaswant raise his eyes, and Jimsa sputtered indignantly from behind.</p><p>“Jaswant, can you leave us for a moment?” Arslan asked, smiling with a hint of embarrassment. Jaswant nodded, his eyes wide as plates, and headed mechanically for the door, throwing a last confused look to Shahir. “Jimsa, could you wait by the door?”</p><p>Jaswant opened the door to leave, but Jimsa shook his head stubbornly.</p><p>“With all my respect, Your Highness,” he said behind his teeth, “I have orders to always keep an eye on you.”</p><p>“For fuck’s sake,” Shahir said impatiently, rapping the floor with his cane. “you’re going to be by the door, what are we going to do to escape? Jump from the window? This is the third floor, the grounds are full of Parsians and I’m a cripple. You’ll be fine waiting outside.”</p><p>Jimsa blinked confusedly, his face turning wildly from anger to mistrust and his hand twitching on the pommel of his scimitar. In the end, he gave them a last warning look, and left the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.</p><p>Shahir merely puffed.</p><p>“Little shit,” he said under his breath. Then he faced Arslan. “And you… you just couldn’t wait, huh?”</p><p>Arslan fidgeted uncomfortably, the weight of his irate and disapproving eyes making him look down. Suddenly he was ten years old again, caught climbing a tree when he should be revising his texts. Straining to stay still, he pulled a nearby chair and offered the seat to Shahir silently. As he expected, Shahir couldn’t remain standing for long, his knee weak from the journey, always piercing him with his eyes.</p><p>“You just couldn’t wait for us to get here and solve the situation.” Shahir ground his teeth, his knuckles white on the handle of his cane. He switched to Avestan to keep their conversation private. “You had to act like you had the answer, huh? Like you had to solve this alone and older, more experienced people could do nothing to help, didn’t you?”</p><p>Arslan felt the heat rising to his head, and his stomach knotting on itself, like it was being twisted around. He opened his mouth to retort, to say that it wasn’t as if Javad or Shahir could take back Kishim in this situation. That signing the treaty was always the end of this problem. Shahir, however, beat him to it.</p><p>“We would have thought of something better to give them in exchange!” He cried out, hitting the floor with his cane. “Did you think we would be so useless that we wouldn’t be able to negotiate something else?! Or do you just like offering yourself to whoever gives you the quickest death, huh?! Do you have a death wish?! If that’s the case, tell me and I’ll search something for you, but don’t hide it as an attempt to help! We need no help from a child to protect ourselves!!” He was shouting by the end, slamming a hand repeatedly on the table next to him. “Why do you always rush into whatever got into your head! You have courage, but why don’t you have brains!? Damn it!”</p><p>The last words were like a bucket of ice water on top of Arslan’s head, immediately sobering him up from the previous giddiness he had felt from meeting his teacher again after five long years. Arslan stayed silent, Shahir’s heaving heavily as he finished. He poured himself a cup of water from the kettle on the table next to them and taking a long gulp.</p><p>“Do you understand what you got into?” He barked at him, setting the cup down so hard that it cracked.</p><p>“They just want me to marry the shah,” Arslan mumbled. He didn’t know how to continue, how to convince Shahir that it was a price he was willing to pay for the good things it would bring to Badakhshan. But whenever he was in front of his old teacher, he felt like he was still the ignorant eight years old child that had entered Shahir’s classroom for the first time.</p><p>“As a <em>harci</em>, huh?” Shahir sneered. “A first rank <em>harci</em>, to boot. Do you have enough details about the situation in Ecbatana’s inner palace?”</p><p>“The shah has no consort.”</p><p>Arslan stopped there, not knowing what to say next. He just realised that besides that, there was no more he could offer.</p><p>The lack of a continuation made Shahir’s face blanch from his previous rage-induced flush.</p><p>“You signed your betrothal without an idea of the state of his household?” Arslan tried to answer to that, feeling his ears heating, but Shahir raised a hand and stopped him. “No, don’t answer to that, I don’t want to know how far your stupidity goes.” Shahir stared at him. After a long pause, he said, “what if I told you that the shah has another first-rank <em>harci</em> and several low ranks ones?”</p><p>“Ah…” Arslan’s mind went blank.</p><p>To be honest, in the last days, he had got a better understanding of Daryun’s character. The man was honestly interested in what Arslan had to tell, and he had treated him with respect and politeness. He was a serious, upright man, deeply invested in the matters that pertained his kingdom. The shah talked mainly about the army and politics, and so far he had mentioned no spouse.</p><p>It shouldn’t be a surprise, Arslan thought. A man like him was bound to have many beauties in his household, a sign of dignity and power.</p><p>“His first rank <em>harci</em>,” Shahir continued, chewing his words, “is a jealous, short-tempered woman. Last year, she staged an accident that took another <em>harci’s </em>life, because they got the shah’s favour. The shah didn’t investigate it further because her brother is a reputable <em>marzban</em>, but many incidents have been linked to her,” Shahir said, his voice devoid of emotion. “You think she’s going to let you have the same rank as hers?”</p><p>“I won’t have the shah’s favour.”</p><p>Arslan scrambled his mind to think of something else to say. He wanted to tell Shahir that the shah didn’t seem the type of man who would ignore his safety for politics. Yet, how could he know for sure? He was marrying Arslan for politics, after all.</p><p>“As if your face wouldn’t get you in trouble anyway, stupid boy.” Arslan wasn’t sure what he saw in his face, but something deep in Shahir’s eyes softened, “you’re lucky that all I told you was fake. The shah has no <em>harci</em> yet, you’re going to be his first official <em>harci</em>.”</p><p>Arslan told himself that the relief he felt was only because there would be no jealous <em>harci</em> trying to take him out of the picture. However, surprise and worry mixed themselves with his relief, making him lightheaded. He was going to be the shah’s only <em>harci</em>? How could a man so powerful have no one in his service?”</p><p>“Getting into his completely blind was such a reckless, stupid move, I won’t comment further on it, lest it be contagious and makes me stupid too,” Shahir said, taking a long gulp from the cup. “In fact, I knew you would need someone to tell you how things work in Pars. As your tutor, that’s my duty,” he grunted. “Those Parsians would surely want you as ignorant as possible, so they can control you. Fuck them.”</p><p>Despite Shahir’s wording, Arslan knew he had come out of worry for him. Shahir had always been an imposing figure, and his strictness and frown had made him tremble when he was a child. Only when he had come back to the oily words and sticky hands of Kishim’s court, had he understood the kindness behind Shahir’s gentle hands when he treated his scratches, even if the man berated him loudly for hours.</p><p>“I didn’t even know that polygamy was in practice in Pars,” Arslan admitted, “I thought only Serica and Sindhura had it in practice.”</p><p>“That’s because I taught you more about Serica and Sindhura, since Pars was in the midst of unrest for a long time. I’m telling you now, Pars has a long tradition of polygamy,” Shahir said, entering his “teacher-mode” as Arslan had called it affectionately in his childhood, “but it fell into disuse after the crisis that followed the death of the previous shahbanu<a href="#_ftn6" id="_ftnref6" name="_ftnref6">[6]</a>, the mother of the current shah. Parsian laws state a <em>hamsar</em> must be able to provide for all of his spouses, so in the middle of a civil and economic crisis, many gave up their <em>harcis</em>. Now that Pars has its wealth back, people will start accumulating <em>harcis </em>again. Some people just need a mean to flaunt their money,” he sneered.</p><p>Arslan took a sit in the windowsill again, leaning against the cushion Jaswant had left there for him. He got comfortable for what was going to be a long conversation.</p><p>“To give up their <em>harcis</em>?” Arslan repeated, trying to make sense of it. In Badakhshan, a marriage could only be undone with the approval of both spouses and the permission of a priest from Mithra’s temple, to make a suitable offering to the god to appease him for the broken vow.</p><p>“Much like Serica, <em>harcis </em>are people who belong to the <em>hamsar</em>, not a proper member of the household. While a person can only have one legal spouse, called <em>hamsaram</em>, they can have many <em>harcis</em> since it’s below a legal marriage, more like a contract of ownership. Many sold their <em>harcis </em>as <em>ghulams</em> and servants, either to save money or to escape from Lusitanians.”</p><p>Arslan’s eyebrows rose high, his surprise evident in his face.  </p><p>“That… that sounds like slavery,” he said. “I thought Pars was banning it.”</p><p>Shahir scoffed.</p><p>“You’re right. Pars met plenty of resistance when they were banning slavery, even with that snake <em>framatar’s</em> plots,” he said, “but they are having even more problems with <em>harcis</em>. Do you know why?” He asked Arslan with a wry face. Arslan shook his head. “Slaves wanted to be freed. <em>Harcis </em>don’t. Many <em>harcis</em> live luxurious, comfortable lives in the laps of their <em>hamsars</em>. If they have children with the <em>hamsar</em>, these children can be recognised as official offspring if both spouses adopt them, which happens most of the time, especially if both are men. They raise their children in much better conditions than they’d on their own. These children can even inherit if there are no other heirs.”</p><p>It was easy to infer then that in this aspect Parsian inner households worked much like <em>harems</em> and <em>houyuans</em>, Arslan thought. Being of the opposite sex gave a <em>harci</em> a head start, since children could easily make things work out in their favour. Unless their <em>hamsar</em> was a man that strictly preferred males, or a woman that only liked women, this was a rule of thumb for all countries.</p><p>Arslan needed little imagination to understand that in the case the <em>hamsaram</em> had their own children, then the matter could easily turn to bloodshed.</p><p>“What about the <em>hamsarams</em>? Did they sell them too?”</p><p>Used to his bizarre questions from his time as his student, Shahir didn’t bat an eye to it.</p><p>“<em>Hamsarams</em> are legally married to their <em>hamsars</em>. Their families are united with the marriage, but they’re in a position of submission: they can’t take <em>harcis,</em> they can’t name the heirs or decide how the inheritance is split between the children. But they aren’t their <em>hamsars’</em> property, and can’t be sold out,” Shahir explained with a hint of annoyance. “You would do better worrying about yourself first. In Pars, <em>harcis </em>are for procreation or recreation—not like the shah’s taking you for either of those, but, still bear in mind…”</p><p>Shahir stopped dead in his tracks, Arslan failing to recompose his face into a more neutral expression. He knew he had let too much emotion leak out to his face, because Shahir grunted, covering his eyes with his hand, as he did when he realised he had talked too much.</p><p>Still, his own heart and hands were clenching painfully that even Shahir thought he had no value as a partner. He had avoided the topic, even in his head, since he stopped qualifying as a valuable suitor for any marriage, and he was acutely aware that he’d never have the favour of whoever he got to marry, but hearing it so crudely was different.</p><p>Like testing icy waters with the tips of his fingers, trying to amass the courage to get in, only to be pushed ruthlessly from behind.</p><p>He had no value for procreation, because he was a man marrying another man. And he had no value for recreation, because he was damaged.</p><p>Shahir coughed into his hand and looked to the side.</p><p>“I’m not talking about what His Majesty did to you,” he said, shifting about. He eyed Arslan’s neck, the bruises already fading into a yellowy green colour, much less noticeable than days before, and pointed at it. “Was that His Majesty or Parsians?” He asked brusquely.</p><p>“His Majesty,” Arslan answered in a mumble.</p><p>Shahir frowned.</p><p>“Did he lash out like that often?”</p><p>Arslan pondered for a bit, the knot in his throat still very present when he answered:</p><p>“Not quite like this,” he said, reaching to touch his neck with the tip of his fingers.  </p><p>“At least with the Parsians that should stop,” Shahir said, frowning. “They should keep their hostage in good conditions, if they mean to use it for long.”</p><p>Arslan forgot his misery for a second when he heard that, looking back at Shahir’s face.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>His confusion and bewilderment reflected on Shahir’s face.</p><p>“Wait,” he said, raising a hand, “you didn’t know? You haven’t realised?” He asked him. Arslan, again, shook his head, feeling the embarrassment flushing his face, sensing that he was missing out on something important. “Your stupidity reaches new levels and tests my limits every time,” he said dryly, rapping the floor with his cane. “Pars wants you as a political hostage to keep Badakhshan under control. Is that being clear enough for you?”</p><p>Political hostage? Arslan thought, bewildered. Because he was the prince of Badakhshan? It made sense then that Narsas was so insistent in announcing him as the proper heir of Badakhshan’s throne. He supposed that the royal line still represented the country—it’d be shameful to have all <em>wispuhrans</em> wiped out.</p><p>Yet there was a fine line between being told “<em>you are helping your country by stepping out of a position that others might use for their own purposes</em>” and “<em>you are stepping in a position that makes Badakhshan easier to control</em>”.</p><p>So Parsians had been striving to use after all. Then, did they still have the heart to help his people? Arslan thought dumfounded, trying to make sense of everything.  </p><p>“They said it was to prevent people using me as an excuse to revolt.”</p><p>“Both have the same result.”</p><p>Arslan supposed both statements were equal in practice. He couldn’t help batting his eyes in surprise at the way Narsas had made him step willingly into his spider web. Shahir merely scoffed at his student’s surprise.</p><p>“You’re still as easy to read as ever,” Shahir scolded him. “Try to be more discreet in Ecbatana, for Ashi’s sake. I’ve asked an acquaintance of mine how the situation is in Ecbatana, and he answered me yesterday about <em>harcis</em>.” He took out a crumpled parchment from his pocket. “What I taught you about Pars when you were a child is old and outdated information previous to the Lusitanian invasion. The shah and the <em>framatar</em> turned over the way court worked, so the situation will probably be completely new to you. I’ll have him tell me the biggest changes that have happened in the last years, but he’s a doctor, and he doesn’t know enough.”</p><p>Shahir took out another piece of parchment and placed it on Arslan’s palm, lowering his voice.</p><p>“This is my acquaintance’s name. Memorise it, in case you ever need to contact us without going through the <em>framatar.” </em></p><p>Arslan opened the parchment: <em>Doctor Yuren</em>. He mouthed the name for himself a few times, committing it to memory. He was lucky he was rather good with faces and names. Then, Shahir took the paper out of his hands and let it burn on the coals that kept the kettle warm, watching the paper shrivel and blacken to ashes.</p><p>“Speaking of that snake <em>framatar,</em>” Shahir added, frowning, “be careful around him. He has been with the shah since they were children, and people say…” he paused, twisting his mouth in distaste, “people say that he keeps his position partly because he sleeps with the shah. <em>There’s never smoke without a fire</em>. Stay on guard around him.”  </p><p>Arslan nodded. He had observed the interactions between the shah and his <em>framatar</em> the days they had shared their meals together. Both men shared a complicity and a tacit understanding that spoke of years of trust. He knew better than to get between them, and, if rumours were true, he wouldn’t bat an eye to it.</p><p>Besides, he had had the distinct feeling for a while that Narsas kept him at arm’s length. Arslan thought at first that it was natural, since they had known each other for just a few days. Maybe the real reason was that Narsas had felt forced to use him, but didn’t really want him near Daryun. Was that the reason he was always with them in their meals?</p><p>Arslan had no desire to compete with Narsas. The <em>framatar </em>was much better suited for a man like Daryun: he was much more refined, elegant, knowledgeable and experienced than he was. More capable as well, even Arslan could see that his abilities were well-suited for his post.</p><p>With such a man by his side, why would the shah bother with him?</p><p>“Women have been scarce around the shah,” Shahir said with a disdainful scorn, unaware of his pupil’s inner turmoil, “but he had female lovers when he was younger. He will probably have them again, especially since he has no child yet. When that time comes, stay far away from her, no matter whether the shah likes her or not.”</p><p>Arslan nodded. He understood Shahir’s concerns. He knew he wasn’t as astute as his teacher was, and his shortcomings meant that he’d be thoroughly chewed out by more skilled people if he tried to gain favour with the shah. The best he could do was get a grasp on the situation and stay clear of trouble—which meant avoiding close ties with people in Daryun’s grace.</p><p>Arslan had made peace with his marriage, but Shahir had brought information that made him feel dazed and confused, once again unsure, the nervousness eating away the pit of his stomach. Yet he understood that while ignorance may bring him more happiness, it was out of worry that Shahir offered all that information to him, so he could fend for himself once he was far from his home.</p><p>Meanwhile, Shahir had finished all the water in the kettle. He cleared his throat, making Arslan look at him. He was avoiding Arslan’s eyes, gazing the trees out of the window, his brow furrowed and lip pursed, clearly uncomfortable. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse from speaking all that time.</p><p>“Javad, that fucking coward,” Shahir continued before Arslan’s negative could interrupt him, “let himself be convinced by that traitor Esfan. He signed that damned contract too damn fast…” he sighed. Tearing his eyes from the window, he tried to look at Arslan, but ended up looking at his intertwined hands, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the armrests. “But, if you’re unwilling to marry, as your teacher, I will plan something to get you out of this marriage.”</p><p>Arslan never took long to forget small grudges. This time wasn’t any different, the unusually warm and low words comforting him, like a sip of hot tea in winter, the wound caused by Shahir’s previous words already scarring over.</p><p>“What is the price for that, sir?” Arslan sighs. Unsurprisingly, Shahir didn’t answer to that. Or, he couldn’t answer that, to be more accurate. “I don’t want a solution that asks for more blood and sacrifice. I signed the marriage to avoid more deaths. It’s my responsibility as the prince of Badakhshan. Let me bear it,” he told Shahir softly.</p><p>The man scoffed disdainfully, but didn’t ask him about it again. Instead, both men sat there, both deep in their own thoughts. Arslan’s fingertips caressed lightly the cover of <em>Rites and Ceremonies</em>.</p><p>“You don’t understand what’s being asked of you,” Shahir murmured, without looking at him.</p><p>Arslan didn’t answer. He didn’t understand yet, but he would soon.</p><p>Let him enjoy his ignorance a little longer.</p><p> </p><p><a href="#_ftnref1" id="_ftn1" name="_ftn1">[1]</a> These are respectively, saint Pelagius of Córdoba and, supposedly, Pelagia of Antioch (Wikipedia tells a different story about her). As martyrs, they are revered for holding to their Christian faith and their chastity.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref2" id="_ftn2" name="_ftn2">[2]</a> 1 <em>gaz </em>is 1 metre.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref3" id="_ftn3" name="_ftn3">[3]</a> Meaning “square sky halberd”, a weapon associated with the Ming dynasty in China. We see it in chapter 47 of the manga.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref4" id="_ftn4" name="_ftn4">[4]</a> Thistrya is the rain god, Mithra is the omniscient god of war, oaths and loyalty, Anahita is the fertility goddess presiding over waters and Ashi’s is the goddess of luck and beauty, the patron of maidens. The last one of the five gods of the pantheon is Verethragna, god of victory.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref5" id="_ftn5" name="_ftn5">[5]</a> Priestess.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref6" id="_ftn6" name="_ftn6">[6]</a> Historically, the wife of a shah. In my AU, women can rule, so a female shah is called shahbanu, and his husband would be Royal Consort.<a href="#_ftnref7" id="_ftn7" name="_ftn7"></a><a href="#_ftnref7" id="_ftn7" name="_ftn7"></a></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hi! ＼(≧▽≦)／ Here we are with the new update! </p><p>Thanks again to all the people who support this story with their kudos, comments, subscriptions and bookmarks! You all make my day when I receive the notifications! (ﾉ´ з `)ノ </p><p>We welcome this week one of Arslan's backers, my OC Shahir, because someone needed to tell our little prince that Pars was using him more than he realised. Though Narsas won't take this kindly XD (he also has another important role, but since he'll do that once Arslan is gone, we won't see that "on screen"). </p><p>Next chapter we'll start moving more quickly towards the wedding and this first part will be almost finished! See you then! </p><p> </p><p>  <strong> Next update: March 19th! </strong></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Andragoras' execution</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Disclaimer: Arslan Senki and all the rights belong to Yoshiki Tanaka and Hiromu Arakawa. </p>
<p>Based on manga events, currently at chapter 92.</p>
<p>
  <strong>Warning: blood, violence, dissociation.</strong>
</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chapter 7. Andragoras’ execution. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Correspondence from the <em>framatar</em> to the head priest of Mithra’s temple </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“To the head priest of divine Mithra, </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I humbly request kahina Farangis in Kishim, Badakhshan, for the upcoming ceremony to welcome a harci into His Majesty’s inner household. The ceremony will be celebrated on the first day of the fourth month. It will require her presence at least three days before. The temple will be recompensed for her services.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“To lord framatar Narsas,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I must regrettably say that kahina Farangis is just a senior kahina of the temple, and may not be suited for a task of such importance. She’s inexperienced, the additional time lord framatar will need to teach her the details are a waste of your precious time. I humbly offer the services of this head priest to oversee the ceremony, and I can assure you it will be grand and splendid, befitting our dearest shah.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“To the head priest of divine Mithra,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I assure you, kahina Farangis will be up to our expectations. She’s a dear friend of our shah, and her treatment, including her freedom of movement, should always uphold her dignity no matter where she is.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“To lord framatar Narsas, </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Fine. She’ll be there three days before the ceremony.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Narsas. 21<sup>st</sup> day of the </strong>
  <strong>2<sup>nd</sup> month (Year 325).</strong>
</p>
<p>Narsas tucked aside his correspondence with the head priest of Mithra’s temple. Daryun and Narsas had agreed that Farangis was the best choice for their ceremony, so he had written to the head priest to ask him to send her to Kishim. From the head priest’s curt reply, Narsas inferred that his old grudge with Farangis wasn’t over.</p>
<p>Since Saam had stayed in Ecbatana to oversee of the court, it fell onto Narsas to organise the whole ceremony, from the banquet, guest list and flower arrangements to the paperwork and budget. This would be the first time Daryun took a <em>harci</em>, and he wanted it to be solemn and magnificent, as it befitted an honourable shah of Pars. Even in a small, cramped and old place like Kishim.</p>
<p>Like the dining room he was currently in. It was used by the officials in their breaks. There was a large oak table in the centre, with a fireplace at the opposite side of a narrow window. The whole room was dull, accentuated by the dark furniture, not quite suiting Narsas’ taste.</p>
<p>Someone knocked on the door, and Elam’s voice announced from outside.</p>
<p>“Lord Narsas, sir Shahir is here to see you.”</p>
<p>Oh, yes, his guest. He had invited Shahir over for a tea as soon as Jimsa had reported the prince’s meeting with his teacher the day before. Narsas found that for a small, cramped and old place, Kishim had lots of interesting people. Like a retired civil officer with connections in Ecbatana.</p>
<p>“Come in.”</p>
<p>The sound of footsteps and a cane hitting the floor rhythmically preceded their entry. Shahir, guided by Elam, took a seat in a heavy oak chair in front of Narsas. After that, Elam bowed and left.</p>
<p>Several types of pastries and two kettles of teas were already prepared, set on the pristine white tablecloth.  </p>
<p>They exchanged some pleasantries. Or, more accurately, Narsas told him some pleasantries and Shahir answered with a few grunts and humphs. </p>
<p>“I must congratulate you, sir,” Narsas said, pouring a cup of tea for himself with a beatific smile.</p>
<p>“For what?”</p>
<p>Shahir’s voice was gruff and hoarse. Narsas had noticed he cleared his throat often—maybe some throat condition?</p>
<p>“For the prince’s education, of course,” he answered, pouring another cup for Shahir. The man made no move to take the cup. “Your teachings shine through—he hadn’t the slightest doubt when I handed him a legal document in Parsian when we just met, nor did he struggle to understand that information. I thought then that his teacher must be quite good. He’s much more educated than what I’d expected from the son of a warrior that scorns at literacy and culture like Andragoras.”</p>
<p>It was easy to praise when the praise was sincere.</p>
<p>Peering at his expression, Narsas knew Shahir wasn’t buying his attempts at making him relax. The man had the same stone-faced expression, with a frown deeply carved in his brow, as on guard as he had been since he had arrived.</p>
<p>“Not my brightest student, but the most earnest.”</p>
<p>“I agree that his strong points lay elsewhere,” Narsas nodded, with a faint smile. “He’s the kind of person I want by our shah’s side in diplomatic or social meetings—he has the sort of presence that makes you lower your guard.”</p>
<p>At that, Shahir actually scoffed.</p>
<p>“If lord Narsas was looking for a pretty face for your shah, there are plenty out there. In fact, doesn’t the queen of Maryam have a younger sister? I heard she’s quite the charmer as well,” Shahir sneered, leaning on an armrest.</p>
<p>Narsas laughed, at last seeing Shahir’s claws. From what Jimsa had told him, he could already deduce that Shahir cared more about the prince than Javad did. Truthfully, it didn’t surprise him. Shahir was a widower, while Javad had a wife and children. In the end, Javad’s words would stay as words, but the same couldn’t be said about Shahir.</p>
<p>Narsas had nothing to fear from a wealthy man, but the same couldn’t be said of a man who had nothing to lose.</p>
<p>“Our shah couldn’t have possibly taken queen Militza’s sister as his <em>harci</em>,” Narsas smiled. “When they requested our aid, they specifically asked us to respect their faith. Believers of Yaldabaoth have firm beliefs about a marriage comprising a man and a woman. Being a <em>harci</em> would be contrary to their teachings.”</p>
<p>Shahir threw him a calculating look, his slanted eyes narrowing shrewdly.  </p>
<p>“What if I told you that His Highness is also a believer of Yaldabaoth?”</p>
<p>“Prince Arslan must belong then to Yaldabaoth’s Eastern Church, since he didn’t address such concerns when he signed the contract,” Narsas retorted, wiping his hands leisurely. He eyed the round and glistening pastries on the plates—Elam had a good hand for baking. “The Eastern Church allows marriage between two people of the same sex, as long as they observe a vow of faithfulness.” And for good measure, he added, “He would have to be faithful to our shah in either case, but our shah isn’t a believer. Nothing holds him back to take a <em>hamsaram</em> or more <em>harcis</em>.”</p>
<p>Shahir’s face reddened, the flush creeping up his neck and face dangerously fast. He looked ready to slam his hand on the table and leave, but in a quick moment, his frown receded, only a hateful glint in his eyes remaining.</p>
<p>“If I didn’t know better, I’d say lord <em>framatar </em>must have been the one to call off the abolishment of polygamy for the sake of creating political ties for your shah. You have a frightening grasp of the matter.”</p>
<p>In lieu of an answer, Narsas merely chuckled. Not even at the start of Daryun’s reign had they resorted to political marriages to establish their power. They had no need for foreign hands in their matters.</p>
<p>He took a sip from his cup, unhurriedly, and took an almond pastry to his plate.</p>
<p>“Pars has no need for political ties based on marriages, sir Shahir,” he reminded him, cutting the pastry in half, the crumbs falling on the plate. “Maryam requested Pars’ protection and gave more than enough in exchange. Badakhshan and its lands are merely what <em>marzban</em> Shapur exchanged for the wellness of his people. Prince Arslan gave away his marriage rights to ensure a stop to bloodshed. I would call them… an equivalent exchange.”</p>
<p>Shahir stayed silent, fuming in his seat. He hadn’t touched either the teacup or the pastries, probably believing them poisoned. A prudent man. A pity for him that the food was clean—not that Narsas was protesting. It meant more for him after all.</p>
<p>From his position, he could see that Shahir’s shoulders were tense, his mouth set in a fine, white line. Repressing his smirk, he took another bite, waiting for the man’s answer. He didn’t have to wait much.</p>
<p>“His Highness wants to prevent the loss of more lives, bound as he is by that damned sense of duty,” Shahir’s control was slipping, one of his eyes twitching uncontrollably. “But these people would never defend him in return, even though they owe their lives to His Highness. Just like no one spoke for me when His Majesty had my kneecap removed in public,” he spat with a sneer. “I’m afraid your little stratagem may fail. Your plan depends on people caring whether the prince is alive or dead. Give or take a couple of years, and people will forget about this stupid young man, and they’ll plan their plots, and raise their armies, and cause trouble. Looks like an impractical plan to me.”</p>
<p>Narsas could admit that he admired the desperate effort Shahir was making in the prince’s stead. He was confident Shahir was going to offer some kind of privilege next, in exchange for the prince’s marriage—and if Narsas had guessed correctly, he’d offer his own services to Pars. Unfortunately for him, Pars couldn’t let Arslan go.</p>
<p>“That’s why I need you, sir Shahir.” Narsas smiled.  </p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>Shahir frowned, his hands twitching once on the armrests. Narsas’ smile merely grew wider.</p>
<p>“You’re right about those couple of years,” Narsas said with ease, “but then, per my calculations, a couple of years is all Pars need to plant its roots firmly into Badakhshan. However, my plans aren’t omniscient. Something could fail, disasters can happen, the human heart is unpredictable. Then, if I needed to hold on to the prince past the first two years, who would ensure his wellbeing here?” He let the good man think of an answer, but gave him no time no say a word. “Has sir Shahir met <em>marzban </em>Shapur? Do you think he’d betray the prince?”</p>
<p>Shahir kept his eyes fixed on Narsas, who took the last bite of his pastry with delight, as if he couldn’t believe where he was taking him.</p>
<p>“No, I don’t think that stubborn mule would ever do it,” he answered after pondering for a second. “But he’s only one man in this kingdom.”</p>
<p>Narsas shook his head, taking another pastry to his plate.</p>
<p>“Sir Shahir is wrong. He’s only one man, but he’s the man holding the highest military position in this territory. Nothing should ever escape his eyes, and if it does, it’s our mistake for choosing him, but not the prince’s. Now, the only thing prince Arslan needs for his protection past the first two years then, it’s that man with the highest civil position is also dead set in keeping him alive. Don’t you think the same, sir Shahir?”</p>
<p>This time, Shahir could no longer hide his surprise, his eyes opening wide comically and his mouth slightly slack. Narsas just chuckled as he bit into the pastry. He’d have to praise Elam—he had outdone himself with the berries filling.</p>
<p>“Lord <em>framatar </em>isn’t worried about me selling this country to Serica?” The man asked dryly when he recovered his senses.</p>
<p>After reading Shahir’s background information, Narsas had pondered for long on that same question. Serica was too far to create a sizeable trouble in Pars, but having a mole was always a pain in the ass.</p>
<p>It was the main reason he was so keen on having Shahir work for Pars. It had been… unexpectedly complicated to convince Daryun this time. His friend had taken an almost instant dislike for the man, because his warnings had made the prince close off to them—a curious thing, that Daryun cared at all. Still, Narsas had persuaded him it would be advantageous to have him in the new Civil Office.</p>
<p>Once he had been sure this man wouldn’t sell them out.</p>
<p>“You have no ties to Serica, sir Shahir.” He was ready to rebut that, but Narsas didn’t need to hear his answer. “You were born in Serica, but your parents established themselves in Kishim early on. You have no family left, but the students you’ve taken in since your wife passed away.”</p>
<p>“Correct. But they educated me in Serican principles and morals, to respect and be filial to my ancestry,” Shahir tried valiantly to twist his logic to him.  </p>
<p>Narsas let out a pleased smile, which seemed to confuse him.</p>
<p>“If I remember correctly, master and student relationships in Serica are akin to being father and son. Your students, including the prince, are Badakhs—and they are the closest thing you have to a family. Will you really sell the country you’ve lived in all your life and the country to which prince Arslan has devoted himself to a country you have no ties to?”</p>
<p>Shahir didn’t answer to that, his mouth set stubbornly in a hard line. Narsas was confident Shahir would bend to his will—intelligent people’s line of thinking was usually predictable in their logic, reasonable decisions, and it was even easier to predict what they’d do when their feelings were involved. Shahir could try to outsmart him, but without the prince’s approval, he wouldn’t resort to bloodshed to free his protégée.</p>
<p>“You’re a snake,” Shahir spat out, his hands tight on the armrests.</p>
<p>Narsas mentally scored another victory for him. At last the man resorted to insulting him, his repertoire of answers exhausted to its end.</p>
<p>“Yet this snake desires the same thing sir Shahir wishes,” Narsas sighs, complacent. “I’ve barely known the prince for a week, and he might not be your brightest student, but even I see that his heart is pure and devoid of selfishness. He’ll continue to protect the people of this kingdom, even at the cost of freedom, his life or his bloodline,” he paused, noting how Shahir’s posture grew impossibly tense, like a dry piece of wood threatening to crack. “We’ll take good care of him as long as Badakhshan keeps its side of the agreement. Take charge of the Royal Office, sir Shahir, and keep reminding Shapur and Javad of their duty towards the prince. And I, Narsas, will give you my word that his wellbeing is ensured in Ecbatana.”</p>
<p>Narsas hadn’t wanted to bring up Arslan’s bloodline to Daryun, worried that his friend might feel remorse for the prince. In the absence of love and lust, remorse and regret were the mightiest weapons a <em>harci </em>could wield.</p>
<p>They’d effectively end Arslan’s bloodline with his marriage, thus forever ending the matter of inheritance in Badakhshan. No one could reclaim Badakhshan from Pars once the prince died, securing the territory for the future rulers to come.</p>
<p>A man without children like Shahir understood the best. He could see the man crumbling before him, his resolve and determination changing directions. To give his plan a last little push, Narsas added:</p>
<p>“You could make Badakhshan greater, richer, more powerful than it is right now. Make Badakhshan a worthy backer for prince Arslan, so no one can look down on him in Ecbatana. After all, the prince of a defeated, impoverished country has quite a different footing compared to the prince of a rich, flourishing new territory, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>Narsas was finished here. A single look confirmed that he had achieved the result he wanted. He rose from his seat, wiping his mouth, and took his paperwork with him.</p>
<p>“These pastries are absolutely delicious. Sir Shahir should try some.”</p>
<p>When he was almost by the door, he heard a heavy thud as Shahir hit the table with his fist.</p>
<p>Narsas didn’t bother repressing his smirk this time. From Jimsa’s report, it was clear as water that Shahir had informers in Ecbatana. Moles, especially under one’s nose, were a fastidious thing—Ecbatana was too big, and the people too numerous to find them. Narsas much preferred to make them useful to him.</p>
<p>Shahir had been a surprise. Narsas had found old paperwork related to this once capable and trustworthy civil officer. With that, he had enough cords to create a foolproof net of security for his plans.</p>
<p>Shahir would create a competent backing for the prince, but he wouldn’t stop snooping for information about the prince from his informers, to check that Parsians were treating him accordingly. Thus, he’d get new, updated information about the prince that kept him determined on his post, making Badakhshan flourish. For him, the moment in which he forgot the prince would never come.</p>
<p>The perfect loop.</p>
<p>When time came to let Arslan go, Narsas would make sure his safety was still in their hands.</p>
<p>Shahir hadn’t stood a chance from the moment he decided he couldn’t stay away from his student in danger.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>
  <strong>Daryun. Last day of the 2<sup>nd</sup> month </strong>
  <strong>(Year 325).</strong>
</p>
<p>It was the day of Andragoras’ execution.</p>
<p>He hadn’t gone back to his cell since they had locked him, busy as he had been with organising the army, training the soldiers and dealing with paperwork. When even hunting and getting meat for the army was a matter of great importance, the number of documents he had to approve was never ending.</p>
<p>Andragoras’ trial had happened behind closed doors. When he saw him again, the madman Daryun had met in the cells had disappeared altogether, leaving in his stead a cold, statuesque man with dark eyes and a deep frown.</p>
<p>The four <em>marzbans</em>, Narsas and Daryun had represented Pars’ Justice Ministry in the trial, and Shahir, as the newly instated Head of the Civil Office (substituting the old Royal Office), lord Keyumars, the new <em>satrap</em>; lord Javad and Esfan had represented Badakhshan.</p>
<p>Throughout the proceedings, the man hadn’t uttered a single word from start to finish, not even when they read the list of his crimes to him. Nothing to say in his defence, no acknowledgement of his sins.</p>
<p>Just the Karvan’s massacre was enough to give him a death penalty for Andragoras and everyone involved. Other felonies, like corruption, embezzlement or abuse of authority, only drove the point even further.</p>
<p>Andragoras was sentenced to beheading, and his head would be displayed on the city walls for a month, to serve as a reminder to those who took their position as granted.</p>
<p>According to their informants, Andragoras’ sentence had caused quite an uproar among the Badakhs, aghast and incredulous that such a sentence could befall a <em>wispuhran</em>. Beheading in Badakhshan, as it was in Pars, was a punishment saved for the worst criminals, and considered quite beneath a <em>wispuhran</em>.</p>
<p>Aside from that, there was also some popular belief among the Badakhs—that the soul of a damaged body could get easily mistaken for a bad soul at the Crossing in the afterworld, where good souls were separated from the bad and assigned their places.</p>
<p>A little before noon, a crowd so thick had gathered in front of the executioner’s block that not even a cat would have enough space to stretch out. They were mostly locals, coming to witness a historic event. The same jury that had sentenced Andragoras to death was present, together with every high-ranking official in Pars army and newly instated Badakh officers, sitting in a high platform right in front of the executioner’s block.</p>
<p>Arslan was also present, at Daryun’s left, Jimsa and Jaswant his ever there shadows a few steps behind his seat.  </p>
<p>Daryun sneaked a peek at Arslan’s face. Understandably, the young man was pale, his cheeks and lips lacking any hint of blood. His eyes had dark bags under them, and a tiny wrinkle in his brow. His shoulders were tense, and he was sitting on the edge of the seat, as if he was ready to sprint out at the slightest sign of danger.</p>
<p>Since Andragoras’ sentence had been made public three days ago, the prince had been distracted, constantly engrossed in whatever thoughts plagued his mind.</p>
<p>Though, truth to be told, since Shahir had arrived, he had sensed a distinct estrangement in Arslan’s behaviour towards them. He still answered their questions—polite, distant—and smiled and laughed when it was appropriate. Yet he rarely was the one to start the conversation, and there was an absent, pensive expression most of the time.  </p>
<p>Most of all, Daryun couldn’t feel the closeness and the warmth Arslan had showed him the first days.</p>
<p>He wondered what Shahir had told him to make him so wary of them, if he had spouted lies and tales to make Arslan afraid of them. Narsas had assured him it wasn’t the case, and that the prince would eventually come around—Daryun had been too busy to ask Jimsa aside and ask him personally.  </p>
<p>However, Narsas’ words didn’t remove the uneasiness he felt when he caught Arslan observing them when he thought they wouldn’t notice. The young man peered at them like they had the answer to a troublesome question. He would blush and turn away whenever Daryun caught him watching them.</p>
<p>Daryun didn’t plan to go back on his word of taking responsibility of Arslan. He wondered if he should have a conversation with him, clear his worries and make him go into the marriage with peace of mind.</p>
<p>A week before the ceremony, Daryun decided. If by the week before the ceremony, the situation hadn’t gone back to “normal”, he’d talk to Arslan. He ignored a voice in his head that resembled suspiciously Narsas’, whispering that it shouldn’t matter to him whether the prince was distant with them or not.</p>
<p>Now, they had more pressing matters at hand.</p>
<p>They brought Andragoras to the executioner’s block. The man had lost weight during the time he had been captive, his mass reduced, and his dark eyes had a gaunt and hunted expression. They shackled his hands and his feet so tightly his steps were ridiculously small, and a thick chain pressed his arms and forearms tightly to his naked torso. He was wearing flimsy, coarse pants, with straw shoes to cover the sole of his feet.</p>
<p>Even when he appeared weak and defeated, Andragoras transmitted a sense of danger and uneasiness. A basic survival instinct told everyone to stay away from this man. The front line of spectators took a tentative step backwards, only to find themselves pushed from behind.</p>
<p><em>Marzban </em>Khwarshed and Farhad were the ones leading him onto the platform, and once on it they forced him to kneel with a kick to the back of his knees. Then, a soldier with a resounding, clear voice, read the statement of his sins.</p>
<p>“Andragoras, son of Gotarzes, usurper of the throne of Badakhshan, is accused of the murder of shah Sassan, son of Keyumars; the murder and pillaging of Karvan, village of northern Badakhshan; embezzlement of public funds, blackmailing and threatening civil and military officers…” The list continued on for a bit. Daryun felt nauseated at the abuse of the power that had killed the people it was supposed to protect. “For these, by the grace of His Majesty, shah Daryun I, Andragoras, son of Gotarzes, is sentenced to beheading! His head is to be displayed upon the city walls to serve as a lesson for those who forget the weight of their post!”</p>
<p>Daryun had been at many executions as a part of his duties. It was the first time he witnessed a crowd stay silent after the reading of the sentence. He didn’t support mindless violence from the masses, and his soldiers always put a stop to people who went overboard, but, this time, the silence was… unsettling.</p>
<p>Jarring.</p>
<p>He sneaked a glance at Arslan. The young man’s expression hadn’t changed, but his hands were gripping the armrests so hard that his nails were sinking into the wood.</p>
<p>Narsas, at his right, was also tense, his hands hidden inside his sleeves.</p>
<p>Daryun turned his gaze towards the crowd again, sensing that something was about to happen. He was tense as well, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword unconsciously.</p>
<p>In the end, it was an old woman who started it.</p>
<p>A gob of spit flew from the first line, but it didn’t reach the Andragoras, falling on the top of the platform instead.</p>
<p>“That’s for my son, you fucking son of a pig!” she shouted, her voice hoarse.</p>
<p>Then it was a young boy, no older than ten, throwing a rock to him, hitting Andragoras right in the temple. The boy wasn’t strong enough to cause actual damage, Andragoras merely looking towards him, the boy’s face turning ashen in seconds.</p>
<p>“T-That’s for my brother!”</p>
<p>In seconds, the crowd started to shout, and, more worryingly, to throw things to Andragoras.</p>
<p>“You gonna take it out on children, bastard!?”</p>
<p>“Son of a whore!”</p>
<p>“My husband died because of you!”</p>
<p>“How can you pay us back for all who died?!”</p>
<p>“Bastard!”</p>
<p>“Beheading you is too little!”</p>
<p>“I hope you rot in hell!”</p>
<p>The soldiers started to put order, trying to make them relax, but even they could see that it wasn’t working.</p>
<p>Daryun rushed up to his feet and Narsas stood up as well.</p>
<p>“Daryun,” Narsas said warningly, with a tense grip on his arm.</p>
<p>Before he could do anything, he heard Arslan’s voice, small and almost buried by the crowd’s shouting.</p>
<p>“At last they’re angry…”</p>
<p>Daryun didn’t have time to dwell in his words, as some people were beating the soldiers in their efforts to reach the executioner’s block. Truthfully, some Badakh soldiers simply weren’t putting in an effort to stop the people.</p>
<p>“SILENCE!!” Daryun roared, his voice effectively overcoming the crowd. The people stopped dead in their tracks, turning their heads at Daryun. “Pars has promised you justice! Let us carry out the punishment as law indicates!”</p>
<p>“But that’s not enough!” A woman cried towards him, tears rolling down his face. “He deserves to be skinned alive! Eaten by dogs! A horrible death, for a horrible man!”</p>
<p>“Yes! A horrible death for a horrible man!”</p>
<p>“Good lord, let us have our revenge!”</p>
<p>Daryun merely shook his cape out of the way, the sudden movement making the crowd shut up in fear at the sight of Daryun’s sword.</p>
<p>“No one is above law,” Daryun said, “not him, not you. If you were to carry out his punishment by individual standards, what would you need law for?” He stopped, scanning the crowd with his eyes. “Let us be better than him, by respecting what he desecrated.” At this, the crowd fell silent once and for all. Daryun raised a hand towards the executioner. “Prepare!” Then, he cast a last look towards Andragoras. “Any last words?”</p>
<p>During the commotion, someone had thrown a sharp stone at him, and it had hit him on an eyebrow. The wound was bleeding profusely, the blood spilling on his closed eye. His single open eye threw a disinterested look at Daryun, turning slightly to his left.</p>
<p>Following his gaze, Daryun realised he was looking at Arslan. The young man squared his shoulders, his jaw tensing visibly and his eyes fixed on the executioner’s block.</p>
<p>“I should have drowned you when you were born,” Andragoras said, his voice lazily carrying to them.</p>
<p>The whispers and murmurings among the people were shocked and horrified, giving no time to Daryun to check on Arslan.  </p>
<p>“What did he just say?”</p>
<p>“What did you expect from a monster like him? Not even his children can escape from him.”</p>
<p>“Poor prince, such a father…”</p>
<p>“Well, the prince is also abandoning us here…”</p>
<p>The wind carried to them the last phrase, sparking a wave of indignation in Daryun. He jolted and scanned the mass for the culprit, finding none.</p>
<p>“Don’t waste your time,” Narsas advised next to him, his voice low.</p>
<p>Daryun wanted to check how was Arslan, but Khwarshed announced that they were ready. Determined to end this as quickly as possible, Daryun sat down again and ordered them to start.</p>
<p>The moment they forced Andragoras to place his head on the block, straps securing him in place, the man started to laugh. His laughs were hysterically high, as much as they had been when Daryun had visited him in the cells. The force of his body shaking with him as he laughed made the blood on his face trickle down to his mouth and neck, droplets of blood tainting the block and the floor before time.</p>
<p>He felt more startled by Arslan’s strong shiver next to him than by Andragoras’ senseless shoutings.</p>
<p>“Tahamenay! Tahamenay, you bitch! You worthless whore! I’ll be meeting you in hell! Tahamenay, you damn woman…”</p>
<p>The falling of the axe cut off his words, his face frozen forever on his maniac laugh and the drops of blood on the floor disappearing under a crimson splash.</p>
<p>In two hits, everything finished.</p>
<p>The blood had splashed on the space in front of the platform, as well as the <em>marzbans</em> and the executioner’s clothes. The small pool of red liquid that had gathered dripped off the platform in trickles.</p>
<p>Finally, Daryun took a relieved sigh, mirrored by Narsas’ sigh. Justice had been served, and a new era started for the people of Badakhshan.</p>
<p>Including their prince.</p>
<p>Daryun turned at Arslan, frowning when he noticed the prince was as deadly pale, as if he was going to be sick, and his eyes were fixed on the platform, unfocused and overwrought. Jaswant was taking a step forward, having noticed that something was wrong with his master.</p>
<p>The shah extended a hand towards him, planning to hold him by the shoulders and ask him if he was alright. However, no sooner had he put a hand on Arslan’s shoulder than the prince was startled so terribly that he bumped into <em>marzban </em>Kishwad at his left.</p>
<p>Daryun’s hand hovered awkwardly in the air for a second, before he retracted his hand, making a tight fist.</p>
<p>Thankfully, besides Kishwad, no one else had noticed, too occupied with what was happening on the opposite platform. To Kishwad, Arslan was apologising profusely, and the <em>marzban</em> hadn’t noticed either what had caused the prince to bump into him.</p>
<p>Arslan was so opposed to having him touch him? Or was it just a common startle? It didn’t seem right, it had caused an exaggerated reaction for a simple fright—the prince kept trembling, or rather, shivering as if he was terribly cold.  </p>
<p>Daryun couldn’t help but think resentfully that maybe Shahir had something to do with it.</p>
<p>Arslan was still shaken, so Daryun kept his worries and suspicions for himself, and approached him instead.</p>
<p>“Do you feel alright?”</p>
<p>“Y-yes, Your Majesty,” Arslan’s voice wavered. “I’m sorry for disturbing you. I just…” Daryun waited patiently, but there was no continuation. The prince swallowed, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s just a headache.”</p>
<p>A blatant lie. Daryun wasn’t sure why he pinpointed it so exactly, but he was confident the prince was lying to him.</p>
<p>Another wave of disappointment surged, leaving a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. He tried to extinguish it, thinking that it was only natural that the prince had complicated feelings for the death of the man that was supposed to be his father. Maybe he had never witnessed an execution before. Daryun himself had thrown up the first time he had witnessed an executioner chop a criminal in half in Serica.</p>
<p>Worried that it might be the case for Arslan, he looked at him again, wanting to ask him about it. However, Arslan kept looking stubbornly forward with was a distant look in his eyes. As if he wasn’t really there.</p>
<p>Forget it, Daryun sighed.</p>
<p>He should give him more time.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>
  <strong>Arslan </strong>
</p>
<p>Arslan had been observing Daryun and Narsas since he had his chat with Shahir.</p>
<p>He told himself it was merely to confirm that they would comply with what they had promised him and help Badakhshan out. However, more often than not, he found himself analysing Daryun and Narsas’ interaction, trying to figure out whether they were really together.</p>
<p>To be fair, Arslan had no experience, and he knew few couples comprising two men. He could see that they had a deep connection and understanding of each other—but then, sometimes siblings had that kind of ties and perfect strangers could be married to each other.</p>
<p>In the end, his observations gave him nothing new to work with, except for the quiet solace that they were indeed working hard for Badakhshan. And these came to a stop the day Andragoras’ trial ended and his sentence was made public.</p>
<p>The shah had searched for him in his room, where Arslan had been revising <em>Rites and Ceremonies</em>. He had extended a parchment to him, saying:</p>
<p>“I thought you might want to know as soon as possible…” he said, carefully, as if he was talking to a scared beast.</p>
<p>“Thanks.” Arslan’s voice was thick as he took the parchment into his hands.</p>
<p>Daryun had stood there for a moment, waiting for him to react. When Arslan went still, holding the parchment in his hand, he raised a hand to scratch his head, more uncomfortable than Arslan had yet to see him. If he had been in a better state of mind or if his heart thumped a bit slower, he might had found it endearing.</p>
<p>The shah had left not long after, his duties pressing him. Arslan, in his room, just held onto the parchment without opening it.</p>
<p>For some reason, he remembered the candied jujubes Serican merchants used to sell in Kishim when he was younger.</p>
<p>He had few memories of Kishim before his mother’s death. Those few memories were like leaves in a clear stream, floating away when you tried to catch them. However, the news of Andragoras’ death made him remember a single hazy memory of that time.</p>
<p>Candied jujubes were a Serican sweet. They were made by cutting fine lines into the fresh jujubes and then immersing them in honey and sugar, making them rock hard, round and glistening. These were much more suitable for commerce overseas, much more resistant to mould and spoiling.</p>
<p>In fact, they sold very well. Their powdery sweet taste with a sour aftertaste made them popular among children. Kishim’s children weren’t any different, and it was common to see children asking their parents to buy them a bag of candied jujubes in the market.</p>
<p>When he was younger, Arslan used to play with the son of one of the castle’s stable hand, a boy called Rostam. The salary of a stable hand was so meagre that the entire family was struggling to get by, so there wasn’t a coin to spare for the candied jujubes his son was asking him.</p>
<p>One day, Arslan and Rostam had just finished playing, and the stable hand came to pick his son up. Arslan was ushered inside of the castle, but there, from a window, he saw the father taking a candied jujube out of his pocket for his son.</p>
<p>It was pitifully crushed, probably a defective candy that some merchant was about to throw away. Arslan had seen much better candies than that one. </p>
<p>Yet it was difficult to forget the honest joy, the happiness that filled the boy’s bright eyes when he saw the candy that his father had gotten for him. His friend’s delight, and the glee with which he ate the candy, taking small bites as if he wanted it to last as much as possible, had appalled Arslan.</p>
<p>Naturally, Arslan had wanted a candied jujube. He had eaten them before, but he had tasted nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe the candied jujubes merchants had brought this time were different from the ones Arslan had before?</p>
<p>So Arslan had asked Andragoras for a candied jujube that same night, when he saw the man coming out of his office. He hadn’t known better, having met Andragoras a few months earlier.</p>
<p>A hard slap sending him flying across the hall and a night in the dungeons was all he got.</p>
<p>In the darkness, trembling in a corner with a throbbing face and a split lip, Arslan wondered why his father wouldn’t give him a candied jujube, while others went out of their way to get candy for their children.</p>
<p>Was it because of him? Was he a bad child? Was that why Rostam’s father loved his son so much while his father hated him? Rostam was a good child, always smiling and generous and kind, and he always shared everything with Arslan. Should he be more like Rostam?</p>
<p>When he got out of the cell, his nanny took him to buy a bag of candied jujubes. All twenty of them, of the best quality, just for Arslan.</p>
<p>For some reason, Arslan couldn’t stand the sight of them, his stomach churning and his head spinning. He had one, and almost instantly threw it up, even though he liked them before. Thus, he gave them away to the children he usually played with.</p>
<p>He noted, with childish interest, that Rostam’s reaction when it was Arslan who gave him the candy was still cheerful, but much more muted than when his father had given him the candy.</p>
<p>So what made Rostam happy hadn’t been the candied jujube after all.</p>
<p>Then Arslan left Kishim when his mother died. Afterwards, Serican merchants had stopped coming; first because of the fever outbreak, and later, because of the war with Sindhura. It had been ages since Arslan had seen one of those.</p>
<p>Even now that Arslan was remembering them, it wasn’t because he craved them. He was just thinking about them, disinterestedly, as if the incident with Andragoras and the candy hadn’t made him cry in his nanny’s lap for days. Like it didn’t happen to him at all.</p>
<p>It happened again during Andragoras’ execution.</p>
<p>The man had said he’d have drowned him when he was born. Arslan knew perfectly that Andragoras felt that about him, but, trying to remember, it was the first time he had heard it put into words.</p>
<p>Then, it had happened something strange—Arslan had stopped hearing and feeling his heart beating furiously inside of his chest. It was almost as if he had fallen into an invisible pond, as if water was muffling out the sounds. His body wasn’t moving, not answering to his orders, the world taking an unreal tinge to it. Arslan could feel both the unreality and the wrongness of this sensation, panic swarming his senses.</p>
<p>He could feel his lips forming words, but his ears didn’t register what he had said.</p>
<p>He could see the crowd raising their fists, seeking revenge and retaliation from a man about to die.</p>
<p>He could see Daryun standing up, his imposing figure and fierce expression reining the crowd in.</p>
<p>He could see Andragoras laughing, but he didn’t hear his laughter. Arslan couldn’t remember how Andragoras’ laughter should sound like.</p>
<p>And then, he could see nothing but red.</p>
<p>The deep red liquid swarmed everything in Arslan’s vision, his eyes moving around but just seeing red, red, red.</p>
<p>And those dark, lifeless eyes, looking straight at him.</p>
<p>Arslan tried to close his eyes, but he couldn’t. Even when he closed his eyes, he just kept seeing Andragoras’ eyes looking at him, mocking him, calling him “worthless”.</p>
<p>In the end, it was Daryun’s touch what made him jolt back to life, recovering the control of his body. The shah had tried to… had tried to put his hand on his shoulder blade.</p>
<p>He had taken the excuse of apologising to Kishwad to put his thoughts in order, noting the cold sweat in his back and the strong chills, trying to convince himself that it was nothing. He kept his eyes firmly fixed on his hands, not daring to look back at the platform or at Daryun.</p>
<p>Thankfully, Daryun hadn’t noticed anything. However, Narsas and Daryun had excused him from the rest of the executions.</p>
<p>Arslan had left, his legs wobbling and his knees weak. Jaswant had extended a hand to him with a solicitous expression, a worried frown on his face. With Jaswant holding one of his hands on one side, and his elbow on the other, Arslan had fled from the accusing eyes of the crowd and the scornful eyes of the Parsians.</p>
<p>Nonetheless, Arslan came down with a fever the day after Andragoras’ execution.</p>
<p>Jaswant was dutifully at his side all the time, already used to it. Some of those who had survived the fever from the outbreak years ago had bouts of fever every once in a while. Last time it had happened, Arslan had been in the mountains.</p>
<p>He was out of it most of the time during the three days it took for the fever to break. When he woke up, Jaswant told him that Shahir and Javad had come and stayed with him for a long while, and that Narsas and Daryun had visited too.</p>
<p>“They came?” Arslan asked with surprise, the spoon with a soft porridge stopping midway in the air.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Jaswant answered, changing the pillow cases. “Lord <em>framatar</em> came the first day to ask the doctor about Your Highness’ condition. His Majesty came twice, but Your Highness was napping or it was late in the night,” Jaswant added.</p>
<p>Arslan was grateful for the two men’s visit for a trivial illness like his. He caught himself wishing that Daryun had stayed longer, which surprised him.</p>
<p>It was an unreasonable request—he had been sleeping when the man had come.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>
  <strong>Two weeks later: 15<sup>th</sup> day of the </strong>
  <strong>3<sup>rd</sup> month (Year 325).</strong>
</p>
<p>In the end, Arslan had spent a week in bed after Andragoras’ execution. He had mostly avoided thinking about it—actually, he didn’t know what to think about it. Should he be mournful and miserable? Or should he be happy and relieved? It made his head hurt, so Arslan had simply resolved not to think about it.</p>
<p>Most people had mostly left him alone, even after he’d recovered. They treated Arslan as if he was made of glass, earning irritated looks from him. Daryun and Narsas were the only ones who treated him with some resemblance of normalcy—their interactions with him didn’t have the shadow of the outbreak. Their conversations were still somewhat stiff, politeness and cordiality creating an invisible wall between them.</p>
<p>Despite Shahir’s warnings, Arslan couldn’t help but forget all caution and vigilance sometimes, when the shah conversed with him or when he looked out for him. It had been… an unusual feeling, the delight Arslan felt when Daryun paid attention to him.</p>
<p>Daryun always made an honest, truthful attempt to listen to him, no matter what Arslan had to say, even if he rarely smiled or laughed. It felt… good. Different to Shahir or Jaswant’s attention. The shah had no reason to converse with him—as Shahir had told him, he was only a tool to them. So if he kept seeking Arslan out… maybe he liked Arslan’s company?</p>
<p>Arslan shook his head, his face heating up anyway, and focused on the road.</p>
<p>He was going to the town with Jimsa and Jaswant in toll. He had gotten permission from Daryun and Narsas that morning, since he had completed most of the preparations for the ceremony the last week. Narsas had agreed to leave him a free week, to say goodbye and tie up whatever things he had left unfinished.</p>
<p>In their trip to town, Arslan made sure to avoid the spot where Andragoras’ head was displayed. Instead, he made a beeline for a house he knew well.</p>
<p>In the <em>azat</em> district of the city, next to the city walls, they entered a narrow street, dark in spite of the early hours. There were several lines of houses, all cramped next to each other. Arslan went directly to a stone house. It was a two-story house, with a limestone tile roof and wooden doors and windows, exactly the same as the other houses of the street.</p>
<p>An old man opened the door when Arslan knocked on it.</p>
<p>“Your Highness!” he said, with delighted surprise.</p>
<p>“Hi, Rahbad,” Arslan smiled. “I’ve come to see Rostam. How is everything? Is Homa well?”</p>
<p>“Yes, yes. Everything is good,” Rahbad answered with a laugh missing a tooth. “Come, come inside. Your companions as well,” he said, waving his hand at Jaswant and Jimsa.  </p>
<p>Inside, the house was much warmer and well-lit with candles. A table was in the middle of the room, a small kitchen in a corner, a pile of firewood in another, and a tight, precarious staircase in another. In a corner of the room, there was a wooden crib.</p>
<p>“Is she asleep?” Arslan asked in a whisper, approaching the crib.</p>
<p>There was a baby lying on her back inside the crib, breathing softly. Her head was turned, her round and squishy cheeks puffing when she snored softly. Her hair was mere wisps of soft, dark locks.</p>
<p>“Won’t be for long,” Rahbad chuckled. He brought a tray with tea and a few biscuits for them. “It’s almost time for her breakfast.”</p>
<p>Jaswant and Jimsa peered over his shoulders, watching the baby. For once, the bickering they had going on since they had both been working with Arslan was absent, their coldness melting away, as it happened to most people watching a sleeping baby. </p>
<p>“Would Your Highness mind staying with Homa for a bit?” Rahbad asked him. “I need to fix some tiles in the roof, and it would be most helpful. If she wakes, her breakfast is on the stove.”</p>
<p>“Yes, of course,” Arslan answered easily.</p>
<p>“I can be of help, sir Rahbad,” Jaswant offered.</p>
<p>“I’d be very grateful,” Rahbad smiled. He turned and picked up his tools, going for the stairs. Before he left, he said to Arslan, “Rostam usually comes around after her breakfast. It won’t be long.”</p>
<p>“I know,” Arslan said, with a soft smile.</p>
<p>Rahbad and Jaswant left for the roof, leaving only Jimsa and Arslan in the room. Arslan took a chair from the table and pulled it next to the crib. He sat on it, watching Homa with a soft smile, tugging her blanket up a little.</p>
<p>Jimsa, irreverently, sat in front of Arslan with a biscuit in his mouth. He took a sip of the tea and made a disgusted grimace at the taste.</p>
<p>“Rahbad has the bad habit of leaving the tea overnight and heating it up the next morning,” Arslan said, smiling. “But his biscuits are good.”</p>
<p>Jimsa ignored him, looking pointedly at the baby.</p>
<p>“This is what His Highness came to do?” he asked, with an incredulous look in his eyes. “To play babysitter to an <em>azat</em>?”</p>
<p>“Not exactly,” Arslan answered good-naturedly. Visiting the children in the low part of the town always made him happy. “I came to visit a friend. On his days off he comes to visit his sister, and we usually meet here.”</p>
<p>Jimsa’s incredulity didn’t lessen one bit. He looked like he was going to interrogate Arslan when Homa whined and wriggled in the crib. As the whines increased in volume, she started to cry, her little face reddening. Her loud and high-pitched cries stopped soon after Arslan took her into her arms with practiced ease, covering her with the blanket so she didn’t catch a chill.</p>
<p>“Can you pass me the food from the stove, Jimsa, please?” Arslan asked over the baby’s gurgle, sitting upright next to the table.</p>
<p>Homa was extending her hands at Arslan, patting his face enthusiastically. Arslan merely laughed at her baby antics, coaxing her with a spoonful from the bowl of oatmeal Jimsa had put next to him. He cooed and puffed gently at her, feeding her patiently.</p>
<p>Luckily, Homa was an obedient baby. She usually had fewer meals than it was desirable for a child of her age, so she ate without fussing too much. Homa’s mother died from some fevers when she had just been born, leaving behind five children, including Rostam. The family hadn’t taken it well, but when death was a constant presence, mourning didn’t extend for long. After all, she had borne nine children, but only five were still alive.</p>
<p>Arslan preferred to think that she was taking care of his other children in the afterlife. Those children were gone before her, and they probably missed her wherever they were.</p>
<p>“How come she is so familiar with Your Highness?” Jimsa asked curiously, watching him.</p>
<p>“I come by frequently,” Arslan answered, “or, well, I used to, at least. I stay with the children when their families can’t take care of them for the day.”</p>
<p>Though Arslan was keeping his eyes fixed on Homa, cradling her in his arms and patting her back, he could feel Jimsa observing him intently.</p>
<p>“It’s for these children that His Highness agreed to the treaty?”</p>
<p>“Not just for them, but they’re part of the reason, yes.” Arslan wondered where was Jimsa going with his questions.</p>
<p>He had noticed from the start the scorn and contempt Jimsa had for him. It was difficult not to, when most of the times the soldier’s words were dripping with sarcasm and derision. Jaswant had confronted him for that reason many times too, both men barely standing each other when they were together in a room.</p>
<p>Arslan was sure that Jimsa was desperate to get another task from lord Narsas. However, his loyalty and his knowledge of Avestan made him the only one suitable for the job.</p>
<p>Lord Narsas hadn’t mentioned it, but Arslan had noticed from the start that Jimsa’s silence when Arslan talked to anyone in Avestan wasn’t the kind of silence of not understanding. Rather, it was the silence of someone who was listening intently.</p>
<p>Later, Shahir had told him about his chat with Narsas, and it had become all the clearer who was Narsas’ informant.</p>
<p>“Then perhaps it’s for the best that now Pars is in charge,” Jimsa sneered. “People need a powerful leader, and I don’t think His Highness has that strength. His Majesty is strong and brave, as a leader should be. Your Highness has done well giving Badakhshan to Pars.”</p>
<p>Arslan’s hand stopped on Homa’s back.</p>
<p>While he had been sick, he had had a nightmare. Or, to be more accurate, he remembered one of his nightmares more clearly than the others.</p>
<p>In it, Daryun held his long sword with a sick, maddening smile on the executioner’s platform, Parsian soldiers and Badakh <em>azats </em>watching him. Arslan knelt in front of the platform, with an unobstructed view of what was happening, but his hands were tied and his mouth gagged. One after another, people Arslan knew appeared in front of Daryun. Jaswant, Shahir, Javad, Rostam, old Rahbad, the servants of the castle, the villagers of the mountains, the old head of Armery, the city’s doctors, the <em>ghulams</em>… all of them.</p>
<p>No matter how Arslan struggled and shouted, Daryun never stopped bringing his sword down on them. One after another, their heads rolled on the floor and their lifeless eyes, dull and hollow, accused Arslan.</p>
<p>Then the Daryun in his dreams had brought his sword on Nadia, and Arslan woke with a startle, his heart galloping furiously in his chest and his back covered in cold sweat.</p>
<p>Fighting a shudder, he resumed patting and rocking Homa back and forth, until he heard a little burp. He smiled and cooed at her, making noises to make her giggle, and untangled her fingers from his hair. Young children, and especially babies, felt a deep fascination with Arslan’s hair—most people were dark-haired in Badakhshan.</p>
<p>There was a tension in his shoulders that he tried to relieve by changing Homa to his other arm, though it didn’t help with the knot in his throat. He took a stuffed toy from Homa’s crib, and gave it to her, to keep her entertained.</p>
<p>“Badakhshan isn’t a heavy load that I’m eager to give away, Jimsa,” Arslan said, unable to keep his words inside. He wasn’t fond of futile discussions, but he couldn’t stay silent in front of false accusations. “His Majesty might be a better leader… but letting him take control of Badakhshan is no easy task for me,” he said, fighting hard to keep the emotion in his voice at check. He cleared his throat and asked, “what do you think of orphans, Jimsa?”</p>
<p>“What about them?” Jimsa retorted defensively.</p>
<p>Ah. An orphan himself, Arslan thought. Contrary to his usual consideration, he went on with his words.</p>
<p>“We see orphans and lament their luck, that they were born to parents who abandoned them,” Arslan said, “but I once saw a mother letting her baby on the doorstep of the temple. It was cold and it was snowing hard. She was barely bones and skin, and her baby, a small thing born days ago. The whole time, she kept letting go and coming back, once and once again. Clearly, she didn’t want to let her child there, but she felt she had no other option to let her baby live.”</p>
<p><em>“You’ll be better here,” </em>the woman had cried, tears rolling down one after another on her cheeks, freezing on her face. Unaware of a young boy with silver hair watching her from the corner of the street, she kept coming back to the baby she had left in a basket instead of knocking on the door and let a priest take the baby inside. “<em>They’ll give you food and clothes and coal to keep you warm… look at how small you are…” </em></p>
<p>Jimsa didn’t answer to his little tale and, with his back turned, Arslan couldn't see his expression.</p>
<p>“We see the orphans and lament,” Arslan said, his voice low, “but, sometimes letting go of a child is the hardest thing a parent can do.”</p>
<p>He watched Homa stuffing a corner of her toy in her mouth, babbling and slobbering her toy. Arslan kept his back turned on Jimsa petulantly, thinking to himself that he had the right to ignore him and not be polite for a moment.</p>
<p>After a while, Homa was still looking at him with her toy in her mouth, the poor thing drooled all over. Arslan gave her a brief smile, and distractedly sang her a song his nanny used to sing to him, with a soft, mellow voice.</p>
<p>
  <em>“The dark swallows will return,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>To build their nests on your roof,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>And once more in their play they will knock,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>On the windows with their wings…”</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hi! I'm back with a new update! (✧∀✧)/ Andragoras is finally dead, but don't think problems will stop coming from him just because his head was separated from his body. I almost feel bad making candied jujubes a source of trauma for Arslan, they're one of my favourites. </p>
<p>Yesterday was so hectic that I actually forgot to hit the update button! (and because I was making last-minute changes (シ. .)シ hehe)</p>
<p>Thank you so much guys for the continued support, the comments, kudos, bookmarks and subscriptions!  ♡＼(￣▽￣)／ I actually reply to all the comments, but some of you commented on guest mode, so you may haven't seen my reply. The answer I got from this fic was much larger than I expected, so thank you! Love you guys! </p>
<p>I'd comment on some other things, but let us explore it together in future chapters ╮(︶▽︶)╭</p>
<p>Have a nice week! </p>
<p>
  <strong> Next update: April 2nd! </strong>
</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The gall of a bastard</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Daryun didn’t need to know what happened. He knew enough.</p><p>That bastard had tried to take what didn’t belong to him.</p><p>Absolutely outrageous.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><strong> Warning: </strong> this chapter contains despiction of <strong>sexual assault </strong> (without rape). </p><p>Starts in this: <strong> !!! </strong> The rest of the chapter deals with the aftermath and mentions of past sexual assault.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chapter 8. The gall of a bastard.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Doctor Yuren’s travel diaries. <em>“On the fever outbreak in Kishim”</em></strong>
</p><p>
  <em>In year 319 of Pars Era, a fever outbreak devastates Badakhshan. Death awaits its preys in Kishim and everyplace less than 5 farsangs away from the capital. One out of every three falls ill, one out of every four die. The disease is merciless, and it preys upon children and elderly, azats and ghulams. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Those affected suffer from high fever, strong shivering and severe headache. Some suffer kidney and liver diseases and weak patients get the tremors. The fever comes and goes in 3-day cycles. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>If sickness is present, wait for the third cycle. If still alive after the third cycle, they’ll live.  </em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Hilmes </strong>
</p><p>Hilmes and his companion met in a canteen in Zabul, one of the western towns of the Great Continental Road, past the Fields of Atropatene.</p><p>“I don’t wish to call into question your decisions, sir…” his companion said, peering at him with uncertainty, “but are you sure this is a good idea?”</p><p>“There’s no other option left,” Hilmes said, with a stern grimace. “Those Misrians cowards refuse to help us—afraid of Parsians, their <em>tahirs </em>and whatnot. Lusitanians are the best option. Since they lost the war, the main army has retreated to their homeland, but a portion stayed in the mountains between Misr and Maryam. I don’t like the idea either, but they’re the only ones I can resort to now.”</p><p>He couldn’t go to Sindhurans, but there was no need to tell his companion this. They both knew that those bloody black dogs would just put both of their heads on a pike. What’s more, their rajah, that fucking snake, might simply trick them to get Badakhshan for himself.</p><p>Every time he thought about his carefully drawn plan to retake Badakhshan, Hilmes felt a blinding headache pressing on his temples.</p><p>Before Pars’ invasion, general Pedram had been amassing a group that agreed to remove Andragoras from the throne. Meanwhile, Hilmes would make a deal with Misr to get troops. They were going to strike next year, before Andragoras had time to produce another spawn.</p><p>Now, that plan was gone.</p><p>Badakhshan had suffered enough. Hilmes had been too young when Andragoras had overthrown cousin Sassan. A supporter of the royal family had rescued him, and had taken him away from Badakhshan, but not before his face was horribly scarred by fire.</p><p>Once he was of age, he planned how to recover Badakhshan. Only the legitimate royal line of Badakhshan should govern the country, for only a Badakh would really care about the country and the people.</p><p>Arslan, that pitiful bastard, would have to die. Hilmes had never contemplated the option of letting him govern… or live. He wasn’t even sure he was his cousin’s son—Tahamenay had already married Andragoras when her pregnancy was announced. Though it didn’t surprise him that Parsians were eager to announce him as Sassan’s son, since it did serve their purposes. Moreover, the bastard was a coward.</p><p>What he had done after Parsians had invaded only proved Hilmes true: he was a treacherous, greedy coward, willing to open his legs to a Parsian brute and to sell his country out. He had secured himself the safest position, right in the middle of the treaty between Pars and Badakhshan.</p><p>Without him, Pars had no legitimate claim upon the land, mere invaders in the eyes of the rest of the continent. Thus, they needed him, or his signature, to fend off Sindhura’s claim on Badakhshan. </p><p>Without him, Badakhshan was no better than any other Parsian province in Pars’ administration, the reason Badakh <em>wuzurgans</em> and <em>azadans</em> supported the treaty and the marriage.</p><p>His blood boiled as he thought of Arslan and those spineless nobles. To have the bastard as a ruler would have been a stain on Badakhshan’s story.</p><p>Once he took Badakhshan back, he’d start a new era of glory for Badakhshan. He’d achieve what the usurper Andragoras had never achieved and take back the lands lost to Sindhurans. Hilmes would end the era of misery and hunger Andragoras had started—but he needed the throne back first. He had designed an alternative plan to achieve exactly that.</p><p>He’d have to use those Lusitanian fanatics for now. They too wanted something from him, something only Hilmes was in position of giving them: the freedom of lord Guiscard, commander of their army, currently prisoner in Ecbatana.</p><p>Though first, he needed to complete the first step of his own plan, before he did anything for those fanatics.</p><p>First, Arslan had to die.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Daryun. 1<sup>st</sup> day of the 3<sup>rd</sup> month (Year 325). </strong>
</p><p>Arslan was lying in his bed, deadly quiet, when Daryun rushed to his room.</p><p>Jimsa had notified them that the prince had taken ill after Andragoras’ execution. Narsas and Daryun made an immediate trip to his room to check if it was of importance.</p><p>When they arrived, Arslan was in a fitful sleep with a cold cloth on his forehead. There was an unsettling flush in his cheeks, contrasting with his chapped and pale lips. Daryun was familiar with sickness and fever—not that he suffered them, but his father had been sick often when he was alive—and yet the prince’s shivers surprised him in their intensity.</p><p>Without thinking, he placed his knuckles lightly on his forehead when Jaswant took away the cloth. The hotness radiating from Arslan’s skin made him jerk away his hand.</p><p>They had brought one of the army doctors, but the man didn’t recognize his disease. Then, Jaswant pleaded them to summon the town’s doctor, claiming that he had treated the same illness before, and Daryun agreed without thinking.</p><p>“It’s an old ailment, Your Majesty needs to worry not,” the doctor said, shaking his hand dismissively, once he had checked on the prince. “His Highness is just suffering from the after-effects of the fevers he caught years ago. These bouts of fever aren’t life threatening anymore, and they don’t pass from one person to another.”</p><p>“From the fever outbreak?” Daryun asked, sitting down on the edge of Arslan’s bed.</p><p>By now, he had heard many people mention the outbreak, mostly with a heavy dose of residual fear.</p><p>“Yes,” the doctor sighed and casted a regretful glance at the prince’s sleeping figure. “We were short-handed and His Highness insisted on giving us a hand. <em>Wispuhrans </em>and <em>wuzurgans</em> had never contracted the disease, and we thought His Highness would be the same. But…”</p><p>“I can see you were wrong,” Daryun cut him dryly, rubbing his eyes. “Tell me more about it.”</p><p>The tension that had been accumulating since Jimsa had told him Arslan was sick dissipated, leaving behind only fatigue. Underlying the fatigue, Daryun found a renewed admiration for the prince’s devotion to his people. The doctor told him the fever outbreak had ended three years ago, which meant that Arslan had been 15 years old when he had risked his health for his people.</p><p>A leader should never order his retainers to do something they wouldn’t do themselves. Arslan’s resolve and determination made Daryun wonder at the leader he could have been… under different circumstances.</p><p>Bristled like a cat splashed with water, the doctor answered Daryun’s questions, clenching his jaw. The bouts usually followed season changes, injuries, illnesses or childbirth. There was no other treatment, but symptomatic treatment of the fever. Strong chills and shivers were common before and during fever bouts, and patients should limit exposure to cold and humid weathers.</p><p>Lucky him, Daryun thought with a sigh, that the weather in Ecbatana was dry and warm most of the year.</p><p>Relieved that it wasn’t serious, they had left the prince to rest. In the following days, they had been busy reorganising the government and the army, so Narsas hadn’t visited the prince.</p><p>Daryun had visited once every day, as it was proper for a betrothed. Each time he had gone either when it was late in the night, or the prince had been napping. He stood next to his bed, not knowing what to do, unfamiliar with what one should do around a sleeping patient and uncomfortably watching Jaswant move around.</p><p>Once, he had noticed that Arslan was frowning, a small crease in his brow, and his hands gripping the wool blanket tightly. Daryun had tried to untangle his fingers gently, but Arslan’s hold was surprisingly strong. In the end, Daryun had left, perplexed.</p><p>He had caught himself wishing that Arslan would wake and tell him what he was dreaming about.</p><p>It was an unreasonable request—Arslan needed his sleep to recover.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Arslan. Three weeks later: 21<sup>st</sup> day of the </strong>
  <strong>3<sup>rd</sup> month (Year 325).</strong>
</p><p>It was late in the night. Arslan had retired back to his rooms after dinner and had changed for the night already. He sat on the bed, wearing a white nightshirt and cotton pants and watching the small glass bottle in his hands at the candlelight. The round glass felt warm from all the time Arslan had been holding onto it.</p><p>But each time he thought about its content, he felt an intense heat in his cheeks and his heart beating faster. He didn’t know what to think about it, or rather, he didn’t want to think about the time he’d need it.</p><p>Rostam had given it to him a week ago.</p><p>Arslan had been immensely glad to see his friend. He had thought he’d have no opportunity to see his friend again when Parsians had caught him.</p><p>Rostam had seemed equally happy. He had remained unchanged in the month Arslan hadn’t seen him—dark hair and eyes, tanned skin, and an ever-present smile Arslan thought as brilliant as the sun. To Arslan’s amusement, his husband, Omir, a stern and serious man, always sought for all kinds of ways to get Rostam to smile.</p><p>The first thing Rostam had done was to hold Arslan’s hands into his and ask him with a seriousness uncommon in him:</p><p>“Is Your Highness sure about this marriage? I saw your guard outside, now it may be the time…”</p><p>Jimsa had left to take fresh air a bit before Rostam had arrived. He was uncharacteristically silent and gloomy, and Arslan worried his words may had pierced on some old wound unknowingly. A day later, though, the man was back to normal.</p><p>“Nonsense, Rostam,” Arslan said, his eyes crinkling with fondness. “For one, I’m not against the marriage, and second, I’d never implicate you and your family in this.”</p><p>Rostam had pressed his lips together with an upset frown. Like Shahir, like Jaswant, he had no other choice than to let the matter go. </p><p>Rostam had brought a bag with fresh, steaming hot <em>pirashkis, </em>fried buns with meat and onions filling, Arslan’s favourites. They settled Homa down in the crib while they shared the food. Rostam had taken charge of the conversation, telling him that the townspeople had plenty of gifts they’d like to give him for his marriage.</p><p>“I’ve my gift for you here,” Rostam said, suddenly embarrassed, “I thought this might be a better moment to give it to you.”</p><p>“You shouldn’t have bothered,” Arslan said with an amiable smile, though it piqued his curiosity. What was it that his friend made a face like that?</p><p>Then Rostam had taken out the round glass bottle from one of his pockets, and had given it to Arslan, his cheeks burning red.</p><p>“The first time I was with Omir…” he whispered, looking around with shy eyes, “we didn’t know… you know, how to do <em>that</em>.”</p><p>Ah. <em>That</em>.</p><p>Immediately, Arslan felt his own face burning up as well.</p><p>“We knew the mechanics, but no one came to tell us about details,” Rostam sped up, grimacing. “So, the first time… hurt a lot. Omir refused to try again until it could be good for me too. Then he got this from a Parsian merchant.”</p><p>Arslan didn’t know what to say, feeling his face growing impossibly hot and his chest tightening. He kept his head down, unable to meet Rostam’s gaze.</p><p>“So, what’s this?”</p><p>“It’s an oil.” Since they had started on this topic, they had reduced their voice to a whisper, so low that Arslan almost didn’t hear his explanation. “To ease the way. I suppose your husband has more experience… He… he should be more gentle and careful the first time, and this should help you and make it easier.”</p><p>A heavy silence fell on them. Rostam had a dark frown on his face, like he was carrying a sack of stones on his back. Arslan knew what worried him—with Daryun’s fame and stance, no one expected gentleness from him. To be honest, not even Arslan knew what to expect, which made his stomach knot on itself.</p><p>“Thank you, Rostam,” Arslan had said, his voice thick, taking the bottle. Gathering up his courage, he added in a whisper, red as a tomato, “do you like it?”</p><p>Rostam’s bright eyes and his giggle had perplexed Arslan.</p><p>“It’s… surprisingly good.”</p><p>Since then, Arslan thought about their conversation whenever he saw the bottle.</p><p>He’d have to lay with Daryun, no matter whether he wanted it. Marital duties were the same everywhere, and Shahir had told him that the shah didn’t refrain from carnal pleasures. <em>Rites and Ceremonies </em>had also cited the importance of the first night for it portrayed the <em>harci’s </em>submission and the <em>hamsar’s </em>acceptance.</p><p>Arslan didn’t know what to think about it. He didn’t even dare to think of himself and the shah in such context.</p><p>In the last two weeks, Daryun had always treated him with respect and his conversation was nice and easy, making hard for Arslan to keep the distance he had set between them. Others, in his place, had tried to take forcibly, Arslan remembered, curling up.</p><p>Still, the shah imposed him with his physique, stern expression, and the non-nonsense attitude with which he approached everything. Would he be the same in their bed? Would he take the time to ease Arslan into it, or would he come and take, resolute and unyielding?</p><p>Rostam had said it could hurt… but Daryun wouldn’t hurt him, would he?</p><p>However, Rostam and Omir were very much in love with each other. Though it hadn’t been his intention, Omir still had hurt his husband.</p><p>The mere thought made him want to curl up and hide, the embarrassment hot and heavy in his chest… Daryun was much more experienced than Arslan’s friends had been as newlyweds, wasn’t he? Then, in Arlan’s case, it was a matter of whether the shah took him into consideration, wasn’t it?</p><p>Did he matter enough to him to make him take pity on Arslan?</p><p>These questions slipped into Arslan’s head whenever he was absent-minded, making him slip and drop the things in his hands. Even now, he shook his head, like a wet dog, trying to make the heat in his cheeks cool down enough to sleep.</p><p>It wasn’t as if Arslan had any say. Fortunately, the shah already had Narsas, so maybe he wouldn’t even remember Arslan was there after the first night.</p><p>A snore brought him out of his musings. Jimsa was already asleep in his cot next to the door, with a hand on his sword.</p><p>Hiding the bottle in his pillowcase, Arslan told himself that it was of no use to think about it before time. It wasn’t as if he could actually consult the shah about his doubts.</p><p>Blowing out the candle, he settled down for the night.</p><p>
  <strong>!!!</strong>
</p><p>It was the sound of retching and heaving what woke him up hours later. It was soon followed by the sound of a liquid splashing on the floor and a heavy body falling back on a mattress.</p><p>The acrid smell of vomit reached the sleep-muddled Arslan, who wrinkled his nose in distaste. The sound of heavy retching didn’t stop, but intensified. Opening his eyes, Arslan made out Jimsa’s figure bent over the edge of his cot, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the floor.</p><p>Arslan sat on the bed and lit his bedside lamp with the tinderbox. He peered at the windows—he hated sleeping with the curtains shut. It was almost midnight. With the lamp in hand, he approached Jimsa worriedly.</p><p>“Are you feeling unwell?”</p><p>“Can’t Your Highness see?” he said, irritated. His voice was raspy and he covered his eyes with his hands. “Must have been something I ate—damned stomach has been hurting the whole afternoon.”</p><p>Skipping around the mess on the floor, Arslan put a hand on his arm and pulled him up.</p><p>“Come, I’ll take you to the soldiers’ headquarters.”</p><p>The shah had told him days ago that they had set up a headquarter in the castle for convenience. It was a resting place for the patrolling soldiers, so they didn’t have to cross the city to rest in their tents in the camp. They had a doctor there.</p><p>With great difficulty, Arslan placed one of Jimsa’s arms on his shoulders, the soldier leaning heavily on him and making him stumble. Parsians were usually taller, but since even a Turanian like Jimsa was so tall, he thought huffing under his weight, maybe it was just that Badakhs were short.</p><p>He staggered under the weight, but they managed to get out of his room. Midway, they stopped to let Jimsa vomit in a corner once again, Arslan keeping his hair away from his face. Half pulling and half coaxing Jimsa to step forward, they made it to the main staircase, where they met with the patrol of their floor. The two soldiers helped Arslan to carry Jimsa to the headquarters on the first floor.</p><p>“Thanks, Your Highness,” Jimsa said, avoiding Arslan’s eyes.</p><p>Once there, Jimsa’s problem was solved, but the patrol was met with another problem: what should they do with Arslan? Among the four of them, there was no one of rank high enough to decide what they should do with Arslan.</p><p>Internally, Arslan mused that if he wanted to escape in the night, he’d have never brought Jimsa to the headquarters, running away instead. He’d be fine with a servant to help him clean up the mess Jimsa had left in the room. Yet, he didn’t want to make things difficult for them, so he stayed silent.</p><p>In the end, a soldier who made a suggestion they found appropriate.</p><p>“We can ask lord Shapur,” he said. Arslan noted with surprise that he was Badakh. He spoke Parsian with a distinct accent. “It’s not so late, he’s probably still awake. I’ll accompany His Highness there and ask him who should stay with His Highness tonight.”</p><p>Arslan looked at him curiously. He was higher than Arslan, much bulkier, and with the dark eyes and hair that were so common among Badakhs. The soldier was smiling, deep dimples at both sides of his mouth. </p><p>“Good idea,” the leader said, though his eyes held a hint of mistrust. He pointed at one of the Parsian soldiers. “Go with him.”</p><p>They left for Shapur’s room. His room, just like Arslan’s was on the third floor, so they headed for the staircase with Arslan leading the group. </p><p>The night was quiet, and though it wasn’t cold, there was a slight breeze that made Arslan shiver. While they climbed the stairs, Arslan looked at the Badakh soldier.</p><p>“I’ve never seen you around. Are you new?” He kept the conversation in Parsian to let the other soldier feel at ease.</p><p>“Your Highness doesn’t remember me?” The soldier asked, dismayed and disappointed. He was speaking in Avestan, making the Parsian guard look pointedly at him. “I used to serve in the prison as a guard. I was recently appointed as castle guard.”</p><p>“Oh, sorry,” Arslan answered in Parsian, “my memory isn’t that good,” he laughed awkwardly. </p><p>He turned forward again, finding strange that he really had no memory of the man. He never had trouble remembering names and faces.</p><p>
  <em>Shiiiiing </em>
</p><p>First was the metallic sound of a sword being drawn. Then, the gurgles and a body falling down to the floor. The metallic clang of a chain mail clashing against other covered by their footsteps.</p><p>Arslan turned, startled. Alarmed and horrified, he saw the Badakh soldier had sliced open the throat of his companion, the bloodied sword still in his hand. The man had caught the falling body and had put it on the floor, so the armour didn’t clang uproariously in the silence. He kept his dark eyes fixed on Arslan, his dimples deep at both sides of his smile.</p><p>Arslan staggered back, about to scream for help when the man covered his mouth with an iron grip, his fingers bruising in his face and grappling his jaw closed. The sharp blade rested on his neck, staining his clothes with the blood. He shoved Arslan backwards.</p><p>“Shhh, Your Highness,” the man whispered next to his head, the breath in the shell of his ear sending disgusted shivers down his spine. “Behave, and no one will be hurt.”</p><p>Arslan peered at the body on the floor, panting heavily and his heart beating hard. The body gave a last few spasms and quieted, unmoving on the floor.</p><p>The man was much stronger than he seemed at first glance. He dragged Arslan with almost no effort towards a cupboard, a small and cramped space with the shelves stuffed with cloths and cleaning tools.</p><p>The man forced Arslan inside, crushing him against the wall. Arslan hit his hip with a shelf corner, a sharp pain flaring in the spot and immediately dulled by his trepidation.</p><p>His attacker dropped the sword, took a cloth from the shelf and stuffed his mouth with it. He pinned him down and held his hands up. The other hand was groping and squeezing his backside, and his tongue licked his neck. He sucked hard on the space between his neck and his shoulder.</p><p>“You’d look so good with a few marks here…”</p><p>Arslan struggled and kicked his legs desperately, trying to remove the man on top of him. His tongue and his hand made a wave of nausea rise to his mouth. The greasy words made his stomach churn. He tried to pull his arms down, ignoring the strain in his shoulders.</p><p>“You don’t remember me, Your Highness?” He said in his ear, licking his earlobe, panting disgustingly. “A pity, I remember His Highness very well… I was in the front rows a couple of years ago… the blood looked good on His Highness.”</p><p>The man avoided his kicks, placing himself between Arslan’s legs. The feeling of something hard and hot pressing on his lower belly made him panic. Arslan heaved, trying to shout over the gag. His attempts resulted in loud hums that dangerously resembled moans. He struggled harder.</p><p>All he got was a tightening of his attacker’s hand on his wrists and a cold sneer from him.</p><p>“Your Highness can open his legs to those Parsian savages, but won’t do the same to a Badakh?” he asked, his hand pressing harder on his hip. “You sold the country for what? The second that shah sees you, he’ll throw you away… you’ll be much better off having a good time with me!”</p><p>Arslan shook his head frantically from side to side. His attempts to struggle died off as he tried to fight the notion. No, Daryun wouldn’t, he wouldn’t…</p><p>“I’ve heard those Parsians are like beasts… particularly their shah. He’s so ferocious he only ever takes soldiers and warriors to his bed, because they’re the only ones who can keep up with him…” A cold, slimy hand slid under Arslan’s shirt, groping up and down. Those icy fingers pinched hard on one of his nipples, making Arslan shrink back in pain. “Behave and I’ll make you have a good time…”</p><p>He tried to take off Arslan’s shirt, but he couldn’t with his arms pinned up. Impatiently, he simply tore the fabric. The cold air brushed on his skin.</p><p>Arslan froze up.</p><p>His eyes widened. The frustration, the panic and the disgust all mixed in his stomach, a sense of incredulity that this was happening to him.</p><p>“Ah, yes, these have been tempting me for a while…” the man put his mouth on his nipple, sucking hard and biting on the rosy bud. “Fuck, I can’t wait…”</p><p>The man first pulled open the cord of Arslan’s pants. Then he unfastened his belt with a single hand, looking down. Horror dawned on Arslan as he realised what was about to happen. With a strength he himself hadn’t expected, Arslan smashed his head downwards.</p><p>The crown of his head crashed hard against the man’s nose.</p><p>“AH! Fuck!!”</p><p>He released Arslan’s hands to cover his face with both hands. Not giving himself time to think, Arslan hit his groan with his knee as hard as he could.</p><p>The scream he let out wasn’t human.</p><p>Arslan pushed him hard against the shelves. His stumble made a whole shelf fall on him, the tools and wood boards coming down like a waterfall.</p><p>“You, son of a bitch!!” He roared.</p><p>Arslan didn’t look back, pulling the gag out of his mouth. Then he opened the cupboard’s door open and ran.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Daryun </strong>
</p><p>“Did you hear that?” Daryun asked out of the blue.</p><p>The soft breeze in hallways brought the sound of a guttural scream, muffled by the distance.</p><p>Daryun and Shapur were in front of the latter’s room, discussing the details of the message they had received from Militza about some Lusitanians causing problems in Maryam. Daryun had been about to leave when the muffled scream had reached their ears. Their hearing was sharp as a wolf’s, and the sound made them look out, wary and alert.</p><p>Sounds of footsteps.</p><p>Not metallic or heavy footsteps, but the sound of bare feet hitting the floor as someone ran towards them, followed by a set of heavier footsteps.</p><p>Shapur went to retrieve his sword, but Daryun headed directly towards the source of the noise. It came from the staircase and Arslan’s room was right in that corridor.</p><p>“Wait, Your Majesty...!” Shapur cried out behind him.</p><p>His words fell on deaf ears. The running sound was getting nearer, so Daryun placed a hand on the dagger he carried on his back. When Daryun was just about to turn around the corner, his stance on guard, he heard a strangled yelp in Avestan in a familiar voice.</p><p>A body collided him with force.</p><p>Not nearly enough to make him move a single inch though, the other falling backwards instead. Out of instinct, Daryun held the stranger’s wrists, subjugating them in a single movement. It was followed by a startled gasp.</p><p>Then Daryun saw his silvery hair and his big blue eyes. </p><p>“You!” he said bewildered and let him go immediately. Suddenly released, Arslan stumbled back, so Daryun instinctively put an arm around his waist to hold him upright. The prince was shivering hard, as if he had a fever again.  </p><p>Before he could ask anything, he heard a man’s voice shouting in Avestan. Daryun knew nothing of the language, but the tone suggested that it was nothing kind.</p><p>A Badakh soldier stopped dead in his track when he saw Arslan in Daryun’s arms, his face blanching. Daryun took a single look at the man, at his bloodied nose and the open pants he was holding up, an erection fading fast.</p><p>Then he examined the man in his arms; the bruised wrists, the torn nightshirt he was holding together and similarly open pants. And he noticed the strong shivers, the bloodstains and the missing shoe.</p><p>“What is happening here!? Your Highness!?” Shapur asked astonished once he reached them. His voice rose so high in volume it resonated in the empty hall.</p><p>Daryun didn’t need to know what happened. He knew enough.</p><p>That bastard had tried to take what didn’t belong to him.</p><p>Absolutely outrageous.</p><p>A cold fury rose inside of him, burning his innards and tensing up his body. His heartbeat pounded loudly in his head. His hands tickled with the need to strangle the bastard, as well as the man missing in this scene.</p><p>Where was Jimsa!? When he got his hands on him, he’d skin the man alive. He had one job! One single, easy job!</p><p>The son of a bitch immediately tried to run. As he pushed Arslan behind him, Daryun caught him in two strides and threw him on the floor, pressing on him until he felt his joints creaking dangerously. The man cried out in pain.</p><p>“Lord Shapur, help!” He shouted towards the newcomer.  </p><p>The whole commotion had attracted the patrols of the second floor, and Daryun heard them running up the stairs. Both soldiers stopped without reaching them.</p><p>“Hey! Are you okay? Quick, give the alarm!”</p><p>Realising that they’d soon have much more audience that it was suitable, Daryun took a deep breath and signalled Shapur to come over. Shapur, however, had guessed what had happened with a look at them, horror and furious realisation dawning on him.</p><p>“This scum,” Daryun snarled, pulling him up and throwing him towards Shapur, “has dared to attack the prince. Deal with this discreetly, Shapur.” He threw a meaningful look at Arslan.</p><p>The prince had stepped backwards, trembling with his back to the wall and holding the scraps of his clothes together. He was taking in quick breaths, but he kept a fierce gaze at his attacker. Daryun had never seen Arslan make such a face, so full of anger and disgust, with a frown marring his gentle features. The hatred turned into outrage and confusion when the man started to talk.</p><p>“I-I didn’t! Lord Shapur has to believe me! He seduced me! He’s just trying to get out of it now that he’s been discovered!”</p><p>“Lies!” Arslan cried out, affronted, his eyes wide as plates and his mouth hanging open. “Y-Your Majesty, I didn’t!”</p><p>Arslan’s self-defence was unnecessary. Daryun could hear the lie in his words. He turned, fast as lighting, furious at the dirt the man was throwing on Arslan’s name. However, before he could grab the man’s neck and commit him to silence, he heard a sickening crack.</p><p>“AHHHH!!”</p><p>The man’s knees gave out, and he would have fallen to the floor were he not caught in Shapur’s hands. Said hands had just broken his arm, which was twisted unnaturally.</p><p>“You dare to slander His Highness one more time, to tarnish his reputation a single time more… and I’ll break your legs. Did you hear me?” Shapur threatened him, his face contorted with fury. He gave the man a strong shaking, making him cry out again. “DID YOU HEAR ME!?”</p><p>The soldier was sobbing and blubbering, blood, snot and tears staining his face. Instead of answering, he nodded frantically.</p><p>The patrolling guards arrived.</p><p>Glancing at the group running to them, Daryun took off his short kaftan and threw it over Arslan’s shoulders before the soldiers could see the prince. He tried to look reassuring when the prince peered at him, dazed but tense.</p><p>Daryun frowned when he saw the patrol carried the body of a dead soldier with a slit throat. If his only crime had been to attack Arslan, he’d have lived. Without a penis, as Parsian law punished sexual assault with castration, but alive.</p><p>Murder, however, was punished with death by Parsian laws. Daryun huffed, somewhat appeased. The man deserved no less for what he had done.</p><p>Among the soldiers that had arrived was Tus, the head of his own army.  </p><p>“Shapur,” he said. The <em>marzban </em>faced him, bowing to receive his orders. “I’ll take the prince to have his wounds treated. I want a complete report tomorrow on this incident.” Then he added, “Tus, a word.”</p><p>“Yes, Your Majesty!”</p><p>***</p><p>Daryun had been planning to take Arslan back to the prince’s own room, but the prince had stopped him, pulling on his sleeve.</p><p>“Jimsa was sick of his stomach earlier,” he said, exhaustion clear in his voice. “It’s not fit to receive Your Majesty.”</p><p>Truthfully, Daryun himself couldn’t care any less, but the sickness acrid smell would be unpleasant and he didn’t want the servants to disturb Arslan. He had been disturbed enough for the night.</p><p>Fortunately, many rooms had been prepared for the guests that would arrive for the ceremony, so Daryun would borrow one for the night. In the next corridor was one of them, Tus informed him.</p><p>“Ask the servants to clean his room first thing tomorrow morning,” he said to Tus. “Bring a change of night clothes for the prince and call the doctor.”</p><p>“Yes, Your Majesty.”</p><p>Tus bowed and left.</p><p>“How are your injuries? Can you walk?” Daryun asked.</p><p>“Yes, the blood isn’t mine.”</p><p>Daryun nodded, guiding Arslan to the room. It became obvious in a few steps the prince shouldn’t be walking. His legs trembled as a newborn fawn’s, as if they were to break at any moment, so Daryun had kept an arm hovering behind him, ready to catch him if his legs gave away.</p><p>He had been very tempted to just carry him in his arms, so he could spare him the effort, but he remembered clearly how startled the prince had been when he last touched him out of the blue.</p><p>Arslan may let Daryun carry him, but he didn’t want him to feel forced or uncomfortable. He never wanted him to be upset in his presence—and tonight, less than ever.</p><p>When they finally reached the room, the doctor and Tus caught up with them. Both bowed to them.</p><p>“Your Majesty. Your Highness.”</p><p>As he greeted Arslan, the man looked at him up and down, shocked at the prince’s state. Arslan clutched Daryun’s kaftan more tightly around himself.</p><p>A spike of irritation surged at the man’s wandering eyes.</p><p>“Wait here,” he said, as sharp as he could. The doctor jolted and looked back at him fearfully. Good. “I’ll call you when I need you. Tus, guard the door,” he said, taking the clean nightshirt from his hands.    </p><p>Closing the door on the doctor’s face was weirdly gratifying.</p><p>Once inside, he settled Arslan on a low canopy next to the fireplace, where he sat looking at the empty space. Daryun lit the hearth. Arslan hadn’t stopped trembling since he had bumped into Daryun, and he was worried that he might fall ill again, so soon after he had recovered. Was he injured? The town’s doctor had said that injuries could be followed by a bout of fever. Did the illness act so fast?</p><p>Unsettled, the need to do something and occupy his hands gnawed at his innards. Daryun placed a kettle over the fire—he would have brewed a hot tea for Arslan, but there were no tea leaves, he noted, frowning. Hot water would have to do. Then he took the thick blanket spread at the feet of the bed and placed it on Arslan’s shoulders. He didn’t stop trembling, not completely, his empty gaze fixed on some point on the floor.</p><p>It made Daryun’s heart clench painfully, the deep exhaustion on the prince’s face and the paleness of his skin. His hands were balled on the kaftan Daryun had given him.</p><p>It didn’t fit him, the line of the shoulders falling too low, and the garment too long on him, covering him all the way to the thighs. It made him look all the smaller and younger, like a lost child.</p><p>Daryun hated to disturb him, but there were things he needed to know first, so he took a chair and sat in front of him. Even though he wanted no more than to hold his hands to reassure him, touching him right now wasn’t the best idea, so he kept his hands on his thighs.</p><p>When he rescued the priestesses from the Lusitanian brothels, many of them had dreaded the touch of men, be it friend or foe.</p><p>“Prince,” he called him. He got no response for a long moment, so he tried again, “Arslan.”</p><p>Curiously, it was the first time he called him by his name, his tongue curling at a name he had never pronounced. The name felt foreign on his tongue, but familiar at the same time, from all the times he had heard it from others’ lips.</p><p>Daryun couldn’t think for his life why he had never pronounced his name until now.</p><p>Finally, Arslan’s gaze fixed on his face. Daryun sighed with relief.</p><p>“Arslan,” he repeated, “are you injured?” The young man didn’t react at all. “Please, I need to know if you’ve injuries. We can’t let them go untreated.”</p><p>Slowly, Arslan shook his head. His eyes didn’t seem as hollow anymore.</p><p>“Just some bruises,” he murmured, clearing his throat delicately.</p><p>Daryun nodded, a heavy weight lifting from his shoulders.</p><p>“Would you like me to call the doctor to have a look at them?”</p><p>Arslan shook his head again.</p><p>“No need.” He must have caught Daryun’s scepticism, for he said, “it’s of no importance.”</p><p>The weight that had been lifted crashed back on Daryun, like a splash of icy water on his head.</p><p>“What do you mean, it’s of no importance?” He asked, unable to keep his incredulity out of his voice. How could he think so? Surely, it must be a poor joke, wasn’t it? Then, a treacherous, unpleasant thought slithered in his head. If the bastard from earlier had dared to… “Has it happened before?”</p><p>Arslan seemed to sense that something was out of order, and he peered at Daryun’s face. What he saw must have worried him, for he tensed his arms around himself.</p><p>“T-twice,” he stuttered. With urgency, he added, “but it never went too far! Jaswant stopped them. I’m still…” he stopped abruptly, growing red.</p><p>It never went too far, he said, leaving Daryun dumbfounded and at a complete loss. He was still…</p><p>“… Virgin?” Daryun completed, shocked to the core. He needed to know if that had been what he meant.</p><p>Arslan nodded, his eyes looking down and a deep flush on his cheeks. </p><p>A wave of dizziness assaulted Daryun with the force of a thunder. If he hadn’t been sitting, he’d have staggered back.</p><p>The implications of what the prince had meant with just a few words were so enormous that Daryun was having a hard time processing them all.</p><p>Outrageous. It was simply outrageous. Absolutely outrageous. There was no other word.</p><p>The son of the shah, the prince of a country, attacked and denigrated by his subjects.</p><p>If Daryun had children, he had no doubt no one would dare to breathe in his children’s direction, if only out of fear of him. In addition, if he ever got wind of anyone daring to lay a hand on his children, he’d make an example out of them, viciously so.</p><p>Such an attack had happened to Arslan. Twice. This time, the perpetrator had been a lowly guard, a bastard that shouldn’t have the gall. His status as a prince hadn’t protected him, so probably Andragoras’ treatment gave outsiders the impression that he wouldn’t care if Arslan was attacked. What kind of treatment did Arslan receive that people dared to lay a hand on him, unafraid of the consequences?</p><p>He suddenly remembered what Andragoras had said: <em>“The look on his face every time I said I was going to sell him off was priceless!”</em></p><p>By chance… the man had made such comments in public? An abrupt coldness hit his core. Daryun squeezed his eyes shut, holding his forehead with his hand. His thoughts were fuzzy, paralyzed at the implications.</p><p>Jaswant had stopped them, Arslan said. But…</p><p>“Before Jaswant?” He asked in a state of utter disorientation. He faced the prince again, who returned a confused stare. “Did anyone attack you before Jaswant came into your service?” He asked with his hands in a tight fist, praying for a no as an answer.</p><p>To his dismay, Arslan nodded, his eyes refusing to meet Daryun’s.</p><p>“Once,” he muttered, and he rushed to add, “but I escaped when it happened!”</p><p>Arslan had been less than sixteen years old, he remembered with a shudder. Had he been of age even? Daryun didn’t dare to picture what would have happened if he hadn’t a loyal <em>retak</em> that followed him around everywhere once he matured into a stunning young man.</p><p>Daryun could feel his anger rising again, like hot lava burning his chest. Monsters, he thought. His hands fisted so hard on his thighs that his nails were sinking painfully in his palms. They didn’t deserve the sacrifices the prince had made for his country.</p><p>At least, his good name and his reputation hadn’t been tarnished. Gods had that small mercy for him.</p><p>Not daring to contemplate the matter any further, he focused on the matter he could manage at the moment.</p><p>“Even if they’re just bruises, they should be treated anyway,” Daryun said, keeping his voice carefully controlled. However, he suspected he hadn’t kept his rage out of his face when Arslan frowned, a stressed crease in his brow. He tried to soften his words further, “I’ll ask the doctor for a bruise ointment. Would you like to have him apply it, or should I call Jaswant?”</p><p>Maybe the boy’s <em>retak</em> would make him feel more comfortable.</p><p>“I can apply it myself, there’s no need to bother them,” Arslan said in a whisper, holding the kaftan tighter.</p><p>Daryun had his doubts, but he didn’t want to pressure the prince, so he rose and went to the door to ask the doctor for the ointment and a clean cloth. They were of the few things a doctor always carried on them.</p><p>With quick strides, he took it back to the prince. Then he turned, tending to the fire with the poker, so Arslan could be more comfortable. He heard the rustle of the blanket and the kaftan, the lid opening and then, silence.</p><p>He had expected some sounds from the young man, but heard none.</p><p>With worry consuming him and going against what his common sense was screaming, he sneaked a peek at Arslan.</p><p>His blood froze in his veins.</p><p>Arslan had set apart the pathetic remnants of his nightshirt, keeping his kaftan draped on his shoulders. He was twisted to his left side, holding the jar in one hand and applying the ointment on his hip with the other.</p><p>It was the first time Daryun saw Arslan’s naked torso, and any other day, the sight of smooth lines around lean muscles and unblemished skin would have made his mouth water. The angle of his collarbone and the curve of his hip were graceful lines, far from the soft curves and pretty mounds of a woman. Maybe, any other day, his eyes might have taken in greedily the flat nipples on his pecs, or the lithe curve of his neck.</p><p>Yet the fire of his anger overwhelmed the heat of his lust.</p><p>On his side, just above his hip bone, there was an angry red bruise of the size of his palm and a scrape just as long, bleeding lightly.</p><p>And those were teeth marks around one of his nipples.</p><p>With a startle, Arslan noticed Daryun was watching him and covered his body again, looking away. He had been struggling to apply the ointment, the angle and the darkness of the room not helping.</p><p>Daryun took a deep breath—for the tenth time that night, he felt—and approached Arslan with slow, short strides.</p><p>“May I help you?” he asked, keeping his face and his voice as neutral as he could. When the young man didn’t answer, he tried again, “I promise I just want to help. Or I can call Jaswant if you prefer it.”</p><p>There was a long moment of silence, in which the prince pondered about his question, his eyes darting around.</p><p>“Your Majesty really doesn’t mind?” Arslan asked in a small voice.</p><p>“I really don’t.”</p><p>Thank gods, the prince left him take the jar from his hands. He wouldn’t have been able to just sit there watching the prince writhing around to treat his wounds himself. Relieved, he tried to kneel before him, but Arslan wouldn’t have it, complaining about the impropriety of it, so Daryun sat on the chair instead.</p><p>Actually, the scrape wasn’t that severe, now that Daryun inspected it. Just scraped skin and a superficial gash with some droplets of blood. The bruise would turn unsightly, but it wasn’t serious. In terms of injuries, it was very low on his scale of severity. If it had been him, given enough supplies, he wouldn’t have bothered calling a doctor neither.</p><p>But he hadn’t expected Arslan to be so stoic as well. He wasn’t a hardened warrior, bearing hundreds of scars. The prince had made no sound, no protest, even if it must have hurt him while he walked, especially when the thrill of the fight died out.</p><p><em>Just some bruises, </em>he had said.</p><p>Daryun remembered that a few weeks ago, in the archery grounds, he had thought Arslan had been pampered and coddled by his retainers.</p><p>He was wrong again.</p><p>Just like when he expected a cold-blooded, cruel and vicious spawn born of Andragoras. And just like when he had judged him a naïve, simple-minded young man.</p><p>He wondered if Arslan would ever stop proving him wrong.</p><p>Though the injury wasn’t serious, it needed cleaning. Daryun poured hot water from the kettle in a basin. With the clean cloth the doctor had given him, he cleaned up the dried blood around the area, dabbing carefully around it. Then, he washed his hands and applied the ointment with careful fingers, exerting minimal pressure around the wound and skipping the gash. Thankfully, it already stopped bleeding.</p><p>Afterwards, he moved onto the teeth marks on his nipple. He frowned as he took it in, and went quickly to ask the doctor for a suitable herbal plaster, dismissing him for the night. Arslan let him treat that one as well, looking away from him.</p><p>What Daryun hadn’t expected was his own inner tumult when he touched his skin. Arslan’s skin was soft and silky under his rough fingertips. Being this close, Daryun could see each fine hair of his eyebrows and lashes, slightly darker than the rest of his hair, fluttering softly over his cheeks. Being this close, Daryun could smell him.</p><p>Arslan smelt of sun and marigold flowers.</p><p>As a lightning strike, he understood in a basal, primitive way why those bastards had sought Arslan. He had known why clear as day before—for the prince’s allure was undeniable—but it was different to feel the desire lurking in his own mind, vivid and <em>alive</em>, in spite of what just happened.</p><p>Daryun pulled back as soon as he realised what he had been doing, standing up and clearing his throat. He felt deeply ashamed and furious with himself, and he viciously nipped his desire in the bud, looking away from Arslan. The young man had gone through enough for the night—he had no need for Daryun’s unwanted lust or his lack of control.</p><p>Above all, he was raging inside for the blood of the bastards that had dared to touch Arslan and leave marks on him, so his lust died out quick. He dearly hoped Shapur’s answer would placate him.</p><p>Frowning as he thought of it, he faced Arslan, who had pulled the kaftan closed. Daryun checked that colour had come back to his face, his cheeks flushed pink.</p><p>He gave Arslan the nightshirt Tus had brought, so he could change. Taking it from him, Arslan looked away, his face grimacing.</p><p>“Can…” He was talking so softly that Daryun had a hard time hearing him, “can Your Majesty turn around? Please?”</p><p>“Yes, of course,” Daryun said, thankful for the chance to avert his eyes with good reason.</p><p>However, when Daryun had his back turned, a question sprung to his mind.</p><p>And he needed Arslan’s answer.</p><p>As soon as possible.</p><p>He would like very much to let Arslan rest for the night, but if his answer was a no, he should know the sooner the better.</p><p>“I’m done,” Arslan said. He had changed into the new nightshirt, buttoned up neatly to his neck. The kaftan Daryun had lent him was carefully folded next to him. “I’ll return it to Your Majesty after I’ve washed it.”  </p><p>The kaftan was the last thing on Daryun’s mind. He sat in front of him again.</p><p>“Arslan, just a last question,” Daryun said, getting Arslan to look at him. “Do you like men?”</p><p>Clearly, the young man hadn’t expected that, his face reddening so fast Daryun felt mildly impressed. Arslan averted his eyes, wringing the blanket in his hands.</p><p>“Why does Your Majesty ask?”</p><p>“I just figured that it might be difficult for you to marry a man if you aren’t attracted to men,” Daryun answered with ease. “I’d completely understand if such was the case, but then some adjustments would need to be made.”</p><p>As an afterthought, they’ll need them anyway, he sighed.</p><p>Daryun waited patiently for Arslan’s answer. Until now, Daryun would have sworn that Arslan was warming up to him in spite of whatever nonsense Shahir had told him, and he hoped he trusted him enough to answer honestly.</p><p>Though maybe warming up wasn’t the right words choice. Arslan was warm and welcoming with everyone—but he kept most people at a certain range of himself, an invisible barrier between him and the world. He almost never talked of himself, and the titbits of information he offered were of an innocuous, unsubstantial nature. </p><p>Yet Arslan had let Daryun treat his injuries when he was most vulnerable. That had to count for something.</p><p>“I…” Arslan’s eyes were focused on the blanket on his lap, “I do like men.” With that answer, things would be easier for both of them. Daryun was going to reply, but Arslan wasn’t finished. “But even if I didn’t, I’d still fulfil my duties,” Arslan protested weakly, talking fast. “Your Majesty can put his mind to rest. I’m aware that it’s my duty to serve you. I won’t reject you, there’s no need for special treatment for me or…”</p><p>“Please, stop,” Daryun interrupted him, absolutely dumbfounded.</p><p>He got up from the chair and paced back and forth frantically in front of the fireplace, sensing Arslan’s gaze on him.</p><p>Was he such a monster in Arslan’s eyes? Did Arslan think he’d force himself on him, forgetting all about what he had gone through? Daryun’s mind was in complete chaos. He had hoped to make himself less imposing during the weeks he had known Arslan, but it seemed he had failed.</p><p>However, Daryun got a single useful conclusion out of his frenzied mind: he couldn’t ask Arslan to lay with him.</p><p>With any other, he could expect them to answer out of their own desire, even if their “duty” pressed them. The prince would comply with whatever he asked of him, out of some sort of sense of obligation. It was apparent that he believed he should meet some ridiculous expectations, and he couldn’t be more wrong.</p><p>He took a deep breath in front of the young man.  </p><p>“Arslan.”</p><p>He stopped and ran his hand through his hair. He didn’t know how to approach this! These were what usually Narsas took care of! There was a brief moment in which he contemplated leaving this matter to Narsas too, but he crossed that idea out immediately. He had promised to take care of Arslan, and it was him Arslan would have to share a bed with.</p><p>It should be him who soothed his worries.</p><p>“Arslan,” he repeated. He was making up for all the times he hadn’t mentioned his name in this month, Daryun thought a bit hysterically. “Please listen carefully. I won’t force you to do anything that you don’t wish to do,” he said each word slowly, looking at Arslan’s face to make sure he was listening.</p><p>“I-It’s not that I don’t…”</p><p>Daryun could almost guess Arslan’s excuses to make him feel better. Still, Daryun wouldn’t feel better until Arslan understood he wouldn’t be cornered and pressed into things he didn’t want just because he was his <em>harci</em>.</p><p>“You don’t need to worry about the treaty,” Daryun said. “By marrying me, your side of the treaty is fulfilled. Pars will fulfil its duties to Badakhshan. However, you still get a say in whether, someday, we sleep together.”</p><p>And that day was definitely not just a week after he had been assaulted.   </p><p>“It’s this about the attacks?” Arslan stuttered with a muddled expression, curled on himself. “I can swear to Your Majesty that those men didn’t s-sully me…”</p><p>“Don’t you dare say that,” Daryun stopped him with a dark frown, a sharp and cold edge in his voice, like a dagger. In less than a second, he realised that his tone hadn’t been appropriate, Arslan flinching back and averting his eyes. Repressing a frustrated groan—why couldn’t he do it right in the first try?—he cleared his throat and called him again, “Arslan.”</p><p>It took a long moment before Arslan looked at him back again, a cautious glint in his eyes. Unsure about how to approach this, he extended a hand towards him, palm up, as if Arslan was a frightened dog. He had seen Arslan do the same several times.</p><p>Then, he waited for his response, patiently.</p><p>Moving tremulously, approaching inch by inch, Arslan placed his hand on top of his.</p><p>Daryun didn’t dare to close his fingers around his hand too hard and tried to keep his touch as light as a feather’s. Arslan’s hand was pleasantly cool on his, his skin smooth and soft on top of his calloused palm. Daryun felt a shiver running down his spine, but didn’t ponder on it further, focusing on Arslan’s face instead.</p><p>“You would still be unsullied in my eyes, even if they succeeded in their attacks,” he reassured him. The look of incredulity on Arslan’s face made him smile sadly. “You are not at fault for what they did.”</p><p>Arslan’s hand was trembling in his. His head dropped, looking at the floor. Gently, haltingly so Arslan could move away if he so wished, he put a finger under his chin and lifted his head until they were looking each other in the eyes. Then he rose his hand, palm facing Arslan, until it was next to his head.</p><p>“With the gods and the Heavens as witness, this is my promise to you: under my protection, you’ll never be placed in a position in which you are forced to do what you don’t wish to do.”</p><p>Daryun stared at Arslan’s face, watching a whole plethora of emotions coming and going. From his scepticism, he moved on to incredulity and something akin to hope. Grabbing his opportunity, Daryun removed a pendant he wore around his neck. He slid his hand away from Arslan, missing the silky touch almost as soon as he lost it. </p><p>It was an old pendant, a fine plaque of pure gold with Pars emblem—a roaring three-tail lion—carved on it. It hung on a gold chain, long enough to be put on and removed without a clasp.</p><p>“This is a pendant I received when I was named heir to the throne,” Daryun said. “I was planning to make this my betrothal gift once I got the new chain I ordered for you. But tonight is a good time to give it to you.” He approached Arslan holding the pendant up. Arslan bowed his head, bewildered, letting him put the chain around his neck. “It’s a sign of my protection, to let the people know that prince Arslan, son of Sassan, is under the protection of the shah of Pars.”</p><p>Arslan was blinking furiously, his mouth opening and closing, as he struggled with his words. He held the pendant between his fingers, looking at it with incredulity.</p><p>“I… I haven’t prepared anything in return…”</p><p>“There’s no need. Just take this as my proposal gift.” The least he could offer a <em>harci </em>of his household was his protection.</p><p>Arslan was examining the pendant, his mouth falling open, completely lost for words. He could see in his quick glances and his wide eyes that he had his doubts about Daryun’s present, wondering if there was something hidden to it. However, these didn’t worry him.</p><p>They would have time.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Happy Easter! ／(･ × ･)＼ </p><p>Here we are with the update of this week! As always, thank you very much to all for your comments, kudos, bookmarks, subscribes! (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ</p><p>This chapter was... upsetting. When I was drafting Arslan's backstory, I wondered if I should include this part of people trying to sexually abuse a minor. However, given the context, given that they'd think letting a 14-years old teenager lead a group in war would be a "good idea", I thought that it was perfectly believable. From what I've found, “the age of majority for boys is 15 lunar years and for girls 9 lunar years.” This is... unacceptable from our modern point of view (and I can't really fanthom the consequences on girls' development). Though, quite more modern was the case of lady Margaret Beaufort in England, who married at 12 and gave birth at 13, just to cite an example of the myriad of examples that there are of child brides in Western and Eastern cultures. </p><p>Beauty wasn't always a gift if there was no one to protect those who couldn't protect themselves.</p><p>I wanted to give Arslan a bit more age to make him more capable (more mature) of processing the invasion and the marriage, but not that much older that one would wonder why Andragoras hadn't killed him. </p><p>On a more positive note, we are approaching the end of arch I! (yes this is new, it could be called... Kishim arc?). </p><p>And, my birthday is in this month too. I'm planning to post a special extra on the day of my birthday (not saying when hehe, surprise!), of which I have some ideas (some scenes I may or may not write: what if Arslan and Daryun had met earlier, Arslan and the marzbans, what if Daryun had a full-fledged harem, what if Daryun hadn't gone to Kishim...). I accept suggestions, and though I can't promise I'll write them, I'll save the ideas I like! (b ᵔ▽ᵔ)b</p><p>By the way, the poem at the end of chapter 7 isn't mine, is from a Spanish poet, Bécquer, "Volverán las oscuras golondrinas". </p><p>
  <strong> Next update: 16th April! </strong>
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        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The farewell of a prince</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chapter 9</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Speech of Shah Andragoras III, son of Gotarzes, on his coronation. </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“It’s time we stop hiding in our houses, that we stop cowering at the sight of those black dogs and their cursed armies! We have the protection of the gods and the forefathers who came before us! Their blessing shall bring glory to Kishim, glory to Badakhshan! We will make Badakhshan great again!”</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Arslan</strong>
</p><p>Arslan was still holding his pendant in his fist when Daryun rose from the chair.</p><p>“Tus is one of my most trusted men and he’ll guard your door tonight, so sleep assured. I’ll leave now to let you rest.”</p><p>“You’ll leave?”</p><p>To his dismay, there was a hint of panic in his voice and his heart sped up anxiously.</p><p>Immediately, he bit his lips, regretting saying anything. Of course Daryun would be leaving. It was very late, well past midnight, and Arslan knew, thanks to Narsas, that he usually was up with the first sunlight. He needed his rest, with more reason because of the trouble he had caused him tonight.</p><p>Moreover, if Daryun was giving his word about the guard, then it must be a man loyal to him. There was nothing to worry about, which Arslan could understand rationally. His heart and his churning stomach, however, didn’t listen to reason. He had nothing to worry about. It was silly of him.</p><p>“Would you like me to stay?” Daryun said. His expression and his voice were still as open and honest as he had been all night with Arslan, but there was a flicker of surprise in his expression.</p><p>Lost in berating himself internally, it took him by surprise. Arslan immediately shook his head.</p><p>“There’s no need.”</p><p>He had inconvenienced Daryun enough for the night. Besides, his face heated up when he thought of their sleeping arrangements when there was only one bed in the room. What’s more, a single bed. For one person. Not two. Definitely not two.</p><p>“Do you need anything else?” Arslan shook his head. Then, Daryun approached him with an extended hand, “let’s get you in the bed.”</p><p>Even though Arslan knew Daryun meant nothing, he couldn’t help feeling terribly flustered when he heard it. So much, he didn’t even fight him when Daryun took hold of one of his arms and helped him to the bed, too busy averting his eyes and trying to control the churning feeling in his stomach.</p><p>Daryun’s hand was very warm on his arm, as it had been when he had held Arslan’s hand in his. If he concentrated, he could even feel the ghost of his touch under his chin, where he had placed his finger, gently, light as a feather. Arslan didn’t what to make of how the memory swarmed his chest in an odd way, making him feel light-headed.</p><p>Daryun was just as stern and serious as he always was. Nevertheless, Arslan thought, getting under the blankets, his movements were much slower tonight. Must be the weariness—the shah of Pars got no moment of rest.   </p><p>Under the blankets, Arslan was holding his new nightshirt in his fists so tightly it must have creased the fabric. He felt the absurd need to hold his breath, noticing the looming and imposing figure of the man just above him, arranging his pillows.</p><p>Once Arslan was lying down, Daryun turned to leave. He blew out the candles and drew the curtains under Arslan’s watchful gaze. When he was by the door, with a hand on the handle, Arslan said:</p><p>“Thank you, Your Majesty.”</p><p>Daryun paused and turned back. He gave Arslan a small smile, barely a tug up in the corner of his mouth.</p><p>“It was nothing,” and he left. </p><p>Arslan could hear him faintly, muffled by the heavy door, talking with the guard.</p><p>Sighing, he turned on his uninjured side. He wasn’t feeling pain, his sense of his body dulled, but he shouldn’t upset his injury anyway. The exhaustion fell on him when he finally let his muscles relax, pressing him down as an extremely heavy blanket. There was a faint buzz in his ears.</p><p>The attack had left him completely drained—a muted, quiet horror still resounding in his head when he thought of the dead soldier. He had truly died for nothing. Arslan would offer a prayer to him, to hope for a swift passing to the other side.</p><p>It was actually the second time he got out of these situations, and Arslan would be grateful if there never was a third.</p><p>But more so than the attack, Daryun’s questions had also left him weary and confused. Why did it matter whether Arslan liked men? Not so long ago, he hadn’t known himself and he had felt no rush to find out.</p><p>While boys of his age were exploring their desires with other boys and girls, Arslan had been fighting the outbreak and rescuing people.</p><p>He had never had the time, nor the chance. </p><p>Until, around a year ago, when Arslan saw Rostam and Omir in a dark alley while he was returning to the castle.</p><p>Omir was a tall, dark-haired man, a couple of years older than them, who usually said few words, smiled even less and kept to himself. That was why the sight of that night startled Arslan for its stark contrast against his usual taciturn self.</p><p>Arslan had heard Rostam’s giggle first, so he turned to the alley to greet him. However, Rostam wasn’t alone—he was being pressed against the wall by Omir’s large figure, a hand behind his head and another at the small of his back, leaning into each other as they kissed. They were locked together, their mouths moving hungrily and their hands clutching the other in a tight embrace. A small sigh had escaped Rostam’s lips as Omir had moved onto his neck, devouring him like a thirsty man who found an oasis in the desert.</p><p>It wasn’t the first time Arslan saw people kissing—couples did kiss each other in the streets—but it was the first time he saw people close to him losing themselves in their desire. Both Omir’s passion and Rostam’s quiet pleasure had surprised him for how different they were from their usual selves.</p><p>Arslan had felt a wave of embarrassment surging in him at the thought of watching his friends in a private moment, and he had left hastily without saying a thing. By the sounds of it, neither had noticed him.</p><p>Still, a deep curiosity surged inside of Arslan, besides embarrassment. What would it be like, to be kissed and reciprocate it like that? To be held so tenderly, as if he was something precious, and to press against his partner instead of looking to flee?</p><p>He had tried to imagine himself in Omir’s position, but found that he’d rather be held and embraced like Rostam was. Then, he had wondered if it would be the same with a woman, but the flicker of heat disappeared at the thought. Arslan had concluded that his preference run towards men, a discovery he contemplated with the same interest as when his teacher had taught him the differences between a man and a woman. This was just a part of him, just as his blue eyes or his pale skin, something many men had in common in the continent.</p><p>Just as it was, Arslan couldn’t help the bitterness, with a heavy tinge of anger as well—he had grumbled about the unjustness of all in the depth of his mind, of how his friend had so many of the things Arslan wished for himself. A doting father, a caring mother, a bunch of siblings. Why did Rostam had so much and he had nothing but a father who hated him and lecherous men touching him against his wishes?</p><p>Arslan had felt horrified when these ugly thoughts assaulted him, reminding himself harshly that Rostam had precisely lost his mother and half of those siblings. His friend’s pain and grief were etched in his memory. Maybe it was Arslan who was lucky, who hadn’t lost his family like that. Maybe that was why his nanny’s parting had hurt so much. He shook his head, dispelling such thoughts.</p><p>Though who would know that a devoted husband would also end up as one of the many things Arslan envied from Rostam.</p><p>Arslan had feared for long that his marriage would end up a political alliance made by Andragoras, or that the man would carry out his threats and sold him to the highest bidder if he displeased him terribly.</p><p>Still, for all his marriage had ended up a marriage of convenience, at least Arslan had been the one signing his fate, and not his father. Were chains still chains if he put them on himself?</p><p>The shah was kind, valiant and magnanimous, and he already had an extraordinary, powerful man like Narsas next to him. Arslan had high hopes that he wouldn’t grow to hate the union.</p><p>He took out his pendant again, watching it under the dim light of the fireplace.</p><p>The gold pendant, almost the size of a <em>dinar</em>, felt heavy on his fingers, and the chain had felt weighty on his neck. Yet Arslan felt lighter, freer, from the moment he had received his gift.</p><p>It symbolized a promise.</p><p>Arslan had done plenty of things against his wishes before. One more, especially when he had had so much time to warm up to the idea, would have been nothing. It was in Daryun’s right to take after all, and no one would say anything. Not even Arslan would bear a grudge.</p><p>But, as a lost coin that reappears in your pockets months after, the right to choose was back in Arslan’s hands. He couldn’t help but marvel at its recovery, thinking it lost.</p><p>Maybe Shahir would tell him that Daryun had his reasons to return a gift that was already in his hands. Maybe Arslan simply didn’t appeal to him. However, Arslan believed that his honesty and his good-will this night had been real. No matter what other reasons were there, his offer and the comfort he gave him were born of a wish to make Arslan feel better. He could have said nothing, asked nothing, simply refusing to sleep with him once they were wed. And yet he bothered to spell out everything for him.</p><p>Though there was no way Daryun didn’t find unsullied—his dark frown and tense expression when he had seen the bruises had betrayed some unspoken anger. He couldn’t find it in himself to blame him. Even Arslan felt dirty when he thought of those hands and tongue on him.</p><p>But he was used to being dirty. There was no need to impose it on Daryun.</p><p>Still, it had been kind of him to pretend the contrary. Arslan would forever be grateful to him for his mercy and generosity.  </p><p>More than adding a pearl to a crown, Arslan thought, closing his fist over the pendant, charcoal for fire in the winter was a much greater gift.</p><p>***</p><p>Even when the fire of the hearth waned, Arslan was still wide awake. He just couldn’t sleep with the curtains shut, so he got up stealthily and drew them open before going back to bed.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Daryun. The next day: 22<sup>nd</sup> day of the </strong>
  <strong>3<sup>rd</sup> month (Year 325). </strong>
</p><p>Early in the morning, Daryun had asked Elam to set up a lunch with Narsas. As a second thought, he also sent a servant to Jaswant to tell him to bring breakfast to his master’s bed this morning.</p><p>First thing in his office, he saw Shapur’s report on top of his table, and his hand went for it before his mind could protest that he had more urgent work to do.</p><p>His eyes grew wide as plates as he read it.</p><p>Shapur hadn’t been able to get a full confession from him, despite trying in earnest—Daryun briefly wondered if the bastard had skin left on his body—but his investigation hadn’t been fruitless. Many of the soldiers he had worked with had been eager to help as well.</p><p>The man had planned it. He had become infatuated with the prince, but Jaswant’s presence had been a great deterrent to act out on his desires. However, the ever-cautious Jaswant had been substituted by Jimsa in the nights of the last month, and he found himself serving in the castle, nearer than ever to the prince.</p><p>So the bastard analysed their behaviour and studied the best moment to attack. He had spiked Jimsa’s food with a mild poison—by then, Daryun’s eyes were bulging out at the nerve of him—waiting for the time Jimsa would leave the prince’s room to find himself a doctor.</p><p>He hadn’t expected that Arslan would take Jimsa to the headquarters. From then, his plan went downhill.</p><p>The <em>marzban</em> highly suspected that it wasn’t the first time the bastard did something of the kind, but he hadn’t confessed to anything else. So he stated simply in his report that he would apply the punishment for an attack of sexual nature and the murder of a fellow soldier. Without a second thought, Daryun pressed his stamp and signature on it, approving and filing the report.</p><p>Jimsa knocked on his door soon after, just as Daryun was preparing to go to the training camp. The soldier was pale, with dark bags under his eyes. He kneeled as soon as Daryun let him in, pressing his forehead to the ground.</p><p>“I apologize for my incompetence!” Jimsa said, his voice muffled as he was speaking to the ground. “I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve brought to Your Majesty and to lord Narsas. Please, punish me as you see fit!”</p><p>Daryun frowned as he looked at him. Truly, the guard had nothing to do with it, since he fell prey to the bastard’s trick. Yet the anger was there, even if irrationally so. He repressed the voice in his head that wanted to order Jimsa to run 20 laps around Kishim and deduct him half-year salary, saying instead:</p><p>“It’s fine.” Then he headed for the door. As a last thought, he said, “make sure you extend your apology to the prince.”</p><p>After that, he went on with his day, mainly giving extra training to Badakh soldiers—for a military orientated shah, Andragoras had his men in a pathetic form. If watching the soldiers pant and heave or the training dummies break under his fist felt particularly satisfying, it must have been because of he was doing well his job.</p><p>By the time for his lunch with Narsas, he felt much better.</p><p>“I need you to lend me Elam for the morning after the ceremony,” Daryun said as soon as Narsas sat, picking food to his own plate. Food always made him feel better.</p><p>Narsas merely lifted an eyebrow to him, lifting a cup of tea to his lips.</p><p>“Oh?” The teasing smile made Daryun want to knock his teeth out, but he kept his impulses under control. With great difficulty. “I thought you didn’t need that arrangement anymore.”</p><p>Daryun huffed. The reason why he had discovered they’d need Narsas’ arrangement after all had made him restless the whole night. Completely out of character for him, he had turned and rolled around in his bed, sleep unable to find him.</p><p>“It turns out we will.”</p><p>“Is it related to the Badakh soldier Shapur had castrated in front of the castle gates this morning?” Narsas asked, making Daryun splutter into his own tea. “Or maybe with the pendant with the royal crest that the prince wears in his neck?”</p><p>Daryun dabbed his face with a napkin, throwing him a dark look.</p><p>However, the news of the son of a bitch having his dick cut off filled him with a dark satisfaction. The corners of his mouth pulled up in a smirk, huffing to himself. To remove a weed, pull out the roots. The bastard wouldn’t live long enough to get tempted again, but he was glad Shapur carried out the punishment anyway.</p><p>His smirk turned into a grimace when he saw Narsas’ amusement.</p><p>“How you get your nose in everything so fast will forever remain a mystery to me.”</p><p>Narsas had the gall to snicker and point a blunt knife at him.</p><p>“As <em>framatar</em>, if I took longer than the time for breakfast, it would be the end for you. I heard of it last night, but since you’d solved everything, I deemed my presence unnecessary.” Narsas’ impish smile didn’t bore good news to him. “I didn’t know you were preparing such a gift for him.”</p><p>“It’s adequate,” Daryun said in a gruff voice, avoiding Narsas’ gleeful eyes. “You haven’t answered me yet. Will you lend Elam to me or not?”</p><p>“Sure, sure. I’ll have everything arranged,” Narsas waved his hand dismissively. “Do you need me to go over the details with you?”</p><p>“No need.”</p><p>When Narsas had explained a plan for him, it had seemed an absolute nonsense. Daryun had been shocked enough to remember the details, even after a couple of weeks. But since last night’s incident, it wasn’t so foolish anymore. Narsas usually had a knack for these…</p><p>Wait.</p><p>“Did you know beforehand?” Daryun asked him, observing Narsas closely and going over his memories of the meeting again.</p><p>Nothing at the time had suggested they might need a cover, but things were never easy with his friend.</p><p>Narsas returned his stare wide-eyed, guileless. His open expression with no shred of doubt of what Daryun was asking about told him all he needed.</p><p>“Fuck,” he said, closing his eyes. His next words were much accusatory in tone, “why didn’t you say anything?”</p><p>“Because the prince was apparently unaffected,” Narsas said, back to his food. However, his jaw was set and his lips pressed flat when he paused. “However, I thought that might be just on the surface. I was prepared, in case the situation turned ugly for you the night of the ceremony.”</p><p>Swallowing hard, Daryun stopped to consider it too. Indeed, nothing before last night had suggested that someone had attacked the prince before. Daryun and Narsas weren’t unfamiliar with this type of victims. To their despair, the Lusitanian invasion had left a plenty of survivors of all kinds for Parsians to pick up across their lands.</p><p>Only now that he knew of it, Daryun could realise guiltily that there had been hints all along.</p><p>“Not that unaffected,” Daryun sighed. “He jumps far too much if you approach him without notice.”</p><p>And the time when he had startled him after Andragoras’ execution. Though he felt an uncomfortable itch about that one.</p><p>“How did you know?” Daryun asked, rubbing his eyes with his fingers.</p><p>“I suspected it when we found his room.” That had been a blow for Daryun too. The prince sleeping in the service quarters… it was completely unheard of. “You could say that he shouldered all the duties of a prince while receiving none of its privileges. Then, he might not have the protection of one either. With no proper shelter, his face was calling for trouble among those with crooked intentions.”</p><p>No proper shelter… Truly, Andragoras could have either given Arslan safety or administered justice among his people, but he had utterly failed to do both. Daryun shook his head, unclenching his jaw.</p><p>“That will change from now on,” he said, with determination.</p><p>He had given Arslan his word and a physical proof of his promise. There was no way he would turn back now.</p><p>Narsas for once didn’t appear nonchalant. Daryun suspected, from his tense shoulders and his pale features, that he too had lamented his own plan, somewhere along the time he had known the prince.</p><p>“Oh, no, no, no. Don’t look at me like that,” Narsas said, shaking a hand in front of his face. “We’ve done more for the prince than we had to. Remember that he was supposed to be dead by now.” That was a reminder that Daryun didn’t like. “I just think that, even if we have to take away the prince, we must be aware of how we do it, as not to leave regrets.”</p><p>“How we do it?”</p><p>“If word spread of terrified cries in your first night together, Shapur might still try to take your head,” Narsas said pointedly, raising an eyebrow at him. “Just think of how difficult it’ll be for me to clean up after that. We’re supposed to leave two days after the ceremony.”</p><p>“I know,” Daryun replied with a dry voice, taking a sip from his cup.</p><p>Narsas shot him half a smile, peeling a pear. Then, his smile turned pensive, and he contemplated Daryun deep in thought, making him feel the urge to squirm. Or bare his teeth and make him back down.</p><p>“You know, he reminds me of you.”</p><p>Daryun blinked. Then he looked at Narsas dubiously and held up a hand to his face, with three fingers extended.</p><p>“Are your eyes okay? How many fingers are here?” </p><p> Narsas batted his hand away, rolling his eyes. The heavy, tense atmosphere that had settled between them dispelled and Daryun breathed with more ease.</p><p>“Not like that. Both of you are too soft-hearted. That’s all.”</p><p>“Soft-hearted? Me?” Daryun opened his eyes so wide he could feel his eyebrows almost touching his hairline. “Are you sure that your paintings didn’t make your brain rot?</p><p>“Uncultured brutes like you are the ones whose brain rot at the mere mention of art,” Narsas snorted at him. “Speaking of which, I wanted to talk to you about a week break for me once we get back at Ecbatana…”</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>A week later. 28<sup>th</sup> day of the 3<sup>rd</sup> month (Year 325). </strong>
</p><p>They were only three days away from the ceremony.</p><p>Farangis had arrived the day before. Daryun and Narsas had welcomed her warmly, glad to see their old friend. Farangis had remained unchanged, every bit as beautiful as she was when they met her on the battlefield a decade ago. Her cold demeanour had also stayed the same, though without Giev around, she was much more generous with her smiles—small curves on her dark lips that relaxed the arch of her brows.  </p><p>Speaking of which, he wondered if Giev would bother to stop over for the ceremony. He had no doubt that the wandering minstrel had already caught word of it.</p><p>Daryun had noticed Arslan watching Farangis the night before, in the welcoming dinner. He wondered if he should have asked him whether he liked women as well.</p><p>Narsas had organized a drill for the ceremony, in which Arslan and Daryun reviewed the steps for it. They were currently sitting next to each other on a large carpet on the floor, waiting patiently for Narsas to finish arranging something with the maids standing behind them. These were all young girls, no older than Arslan himself, all giggly and blushing faces.</p><p>Daryun suppressed a sigh, thinking to himself that he only had to endure it for a bit more. He threw a side-glance at Arslan, whose injuries, according to Jaswant, were recovering nicely. The mark on his neck faded already—Arslan had told him, since he kept his neck covered these days—and his hip hadn’t needed additional treatment.</p><p>The glass wall between them had broken the night of the attack. To Daryun’s petty satisfaction, Arslan no longer avoided him, even if Shahir gave him disapproving glances. His smiles, his words and his stance with him got more familiar, though he held appropriate respect and propriety for Daryun’s higher status.</p><p>Arslan now started conversations with Daryun on his own, and he no longer gave him excuses to leave as soon as meals were finished. Sometimes night time caught up with the three of them chatting after dinner, usually about what they had done that day.</p><p>And he wore Daryun’s gift, though the pendant was usually hidden under his tunic.</p><p>It made his chest warm. Daryun had an insistent itch sometimes, to put an arm over his shoulders like he did with Narsas and his <em>marzbans</em>, but he had kept a respectful distance, mindful of Arslan’s easily triggered nerves.</p><p>While he was lost in his thoughts, he didn’t realise that he hadn’t moved his eyes away from Arslan’s face. The young man ended up catching his gaze, Daryun coughing a little in his fist to hide his awkwardness. Arslan merely smiled warmly at him.</p><p>“Your Majesty,” he said under Narsas’ bellowing voice. “May I request permission to leave the city?”</p><p>“Permission to leave the city?” Daryun frowned, worried.</p><p>There should be no problem to let him leave if Jimsa was with him. Besides, Parsian soldiers were littered all over the territory around Kishim, as far as 2 <em>farsangs</em> away.</p><p>It was just that something in Arslan’s voice didn’t seem right. And he had made no extraordinary requests before.</p><p> “Yes.” Arslan looked at the carpet in front of them. His fingers were playing idly with the edge of the carpet. “Since we’re leaving in a few days, I’d like to say goodbye to someone.” He met Daryun’s eyes again, adding, “of course, I’d bring Jimsa and whoever Your Majesty deems necessary. I don’t mean to cause trouble.”</p><p>“Why doesn’t Your Majesty take Your Highness? No need for extra bodyguards in that case,” Narsas cut in cheerfully.</p><p>Darned Narsas. Since when had he started to listen in other people’s conversations? Not that he minded going with Arslan, but…</p><p>“I have a meeting with Farhad after this,” Daryun said with a frown.</p><p>“Oh, Your Majesty doesn’t.” Narsas placed his hands into his sleeves, smiling beatifically. “Lord Farhad told me earlier that he was busy and would come on another time.”</p><p>That didn’t sound right. Farhad was a stickler for schedules, and he hated spending any second more than necessary in any matter. He hadn’t received a message about a delay in the meeting either, as he should have in such a case. Daryun narrowed his eyes at him, but Narsas ignored him.</p><p>Bah. He could take it as a break for him. There was nagging curiosity chewing the edge of his mind too, about Arslan’s mysterious… friend? Relative? Acquaintance?</p><p>“I’ll come along then.”</p><p>The prince merely smiled and bowed to him.</p><p>“Thank you very much, Your Majesty.”</p><p>***</p><p>When they finished, Narsas accompanied them to the castle gates, where servants had saddled Shabrang and a chestnut mare for them. It was past midday, the sun high in the sky with few clouds.</p><p>Jimsa wouldn’t be coming with them. At least, not openly. Narsas and Daryun usually had a team following them if they were going out, often hidden behind them instead of riding after them in the open.</p><p>They had barely got on their horses—Arslan was a decent horseman, sitting tall, but not bolt upright, and his stance relaxed—when Elam arrived at the castle gates, probably returning from some errand for Narsas in the camp. His surprise was obvious when he saw them on horses.</p><p>“Your Majesty! You’re going out? I saw lord Fmmmphf”</p><p>Narsas’ hand on his mouth muffled his words.</p><p><em>Damned Narsas</em>, Daryun thought, frowning and staring at him with annoyance.</p><p>“It will get late if you don’t leave now,” Narsas said with a cheering voice. </p><p>“I’ll leave you to fix that,” Daryun said curtly and took off for the city gates.</p><p>As they passed the city, the townspeople on the street greeted their prince as they rode by. Arslan had told him they had been happy to see him again after a month with no sight of him. Jimsa had told them that some had been overjoyed and others had almost cried. There were people who distrusted the treaty, and hence, the prince, but those were outnumbered by the others.</p><p>After half a month, they had become used to seeing him regularly again, and they greeted him as they greeted each other, though some cowered at the sight of Daryun and didn’t dare to speak.</p><p>“Your Highness! Your Highness!”</p><p>“Mom, it’s the prince!”</p><p>“Where are you going?”</p><p>Arslan greeted back, waving his hand, a smile so bright in his face that Daryun felt his eyes linger for a tad too long.</p><p>So much that it took him a moment to realize that he was calling them by their names, as familiar as if he had grown up in the neighbourhood. Abtin, Omir, Babak, Roya, Farshid, Donya, Yazdan, Rahbad… He knew them all.</p><p>Daryun felt his mouth going slack with surprise and his eyes widening. So the prince had really mingled with the commoners to this degree. </p><p>“I’m going to visit Sareh,” Arslan said to one of them, an old woman with grey hair carrying a large basket.</p><p>Sareh? The name sounded familiar, but Daryun couldn’t place it…</p><p>“Oh,” she said. Reaching with her chubby hand inside of the basket, she brought out three oranges, big and round. “Share these with them then, Your Highness.”</p><p>Daryun’s eyes widened yet a bit more. Oranges weren’t common in the continent—they were usually imported from Serica. Since Pars had conquered and established themselves, Serican merchants were coming again to Kishim, but their goods weren’t cheap, for the risk they took approaching an unstable territory.</p><p>To offer so much at the stroke of a pen…</p><p>“Thank you, Roya.”</p><p>The voice of the prince carried a touch of sadness.</p><p>They trotted out of the city, from where Arslan led the way. Some soldiers from the camp peered at them curiously. Most of the eyes were fixed on Arslan, of course, since it was rare for the prince to come out of the castle. Daryun had heard rumours, off-hand comments when his soldiers thought he couldn’t hear them. And those he didn’t hear, Narsas magnanimously filled him in when they dined together without Arslan.</p><p>Some, mainly Parsians, said that Daryun didn’t need to go through a marriage if all he wanted was to get a good lay. No one would have said anything if he asked the prince to attend him. Or that maybe Daryun had gotten a taste and had liked it so much that he wanted to keep him for himself. To those, Daryun would graciously gift them with a punch in the nose.</p><p>Others said that Arslan had bewitched him somehow, maybe with his looks or his “skills”, convincing Daryun to take him in his household, to enjoy a lifetime of luxury. To those, Daryun would graciously punch them twice.</p><p>Most of them, however, were just relieved that the shah had the good sense to keep him as <em>harci</em> rather than a consort. Who knew, they said, what a foreigner had up his sleeve and what he’d do with political power. To those, Daryun would sneer and say, <em>“do you think I’m daft?”.</em></p><p>As if he could simply offer the position of consort to anyone.</p><p>On their way out, Arslan offered an orange to him.</p><p>“Would Your Majesty want one?”</p><p>“Thank you,” Daryun said, grateful for the fruit. He was getting thirsty.</p><p>He peeled and bit into the fruit with joy. It had been long since he last had one. Then, he noticed Arslan had kept the other two.</p><p>“You won’t eat one?” He asked off-handed, wiping the juices with a handkerchief. Elam had been adamant that he stopped using his cape to wipe off his hands.</p><p>“No, these are for someone else,” Arslan said with a smile.</p><p>Daryun felt a flash of something very akin to jealousy ran through him. It took him a moment to realise that he wanted Arslan to save precious foods for him, to keep them until he could share them with him. Probably he had just offered one to him out of politeness, and he hadn’t actually expected Daryun to accept it.</p><p>Angry with himself for feeling jealous, he finished the other half in two bites.</p><p>However, the anger was soon forgotten as he realised where they were going.</p><p>They were at the feet of the hill where Kishim’s cemetery was.</p><p>Arslan stopped and turned to Daryun, with an uncomfortable grimace on his thin lips.</p><p>“If Your Majesty doesn’t mind, from here, it would be best if we continued on foot.”</p><p>“Yes, of course.”</p><p>It was the best way to convey respect. Deceased and gods were the same. There was a sliver of guilt inside him when he thought he had been unreasonable towards a deceased person, and much more when they were evidently important for Arslan. They should have remembered to let Arslan to come here. Surely he’d like to bid farewell to his mother.</p><p>The weather was pleasant, and the grass green and crisp under their boots. The cemetery was on top of the hill, and they marched up pulling the reins of the horses. Arslan had fallen silent since they reached the hill, something heavy in the lines of his face. Daryun didn’t want to pry, so he kept an agreeable silence, watching the scenery.</p><p>As they went up the hill, their sight of the city became larger, the houses shrinking in size as they went farther. The mountains with their evergreen scenery adorned with the early summer blooms, birds flying over the city and the blue sky and white, puffy clouds made the perfect background for Kishim.</p><p>In spite of Andragoras’ poor management, the city was still a beautiful place of slender limestone houses, like grey pearls in the soft embrace of the mountains. Badakhs placed flowers and plants on their windowsills and balconies, creating colourful spots in the city. There was smoke rising from some chimneys, and though they couldn’t hear anything from this distance, Daryun remembered distinctly the sound of laughter and conversation that had followed them on their way out.</p><p>Kishim was truly worthy of his name—the gem of Badakhshan.  </p><p>“What a splendid view,” Daryun praised, stopping for a moment to contemplate the city.</p><p>Arslan stopped, giving him a curious look and turning his gaze towards the scenery as well. A fond, soft smile bloomed on his face. Paired with the blush from the walk, it made a stunning sight that competed with the city for Daryun’s attention.</p><p>“It is.”</p><p>Daryun cleared his throat, gazing at the scenery.</p><p>“No wonder that even a garbage artist like Narsas would feel inspired to paint.”</p><p>“Lord Narsas paints?” Arslan asked, facing Daryun curiously. “I didn’t know.”</p><p>It was the grace of gods that Narsas was so busy with the government transition that he dwelt little on his art these days.</p><p>“Well… Everyone has some kind of flaw,” Daryun said instead, rubbing the back of his head uncomfortably. “He understands the movement of the planet and the stars, the topography of foreign lands, changes in history… There is nothing he doesn’t know about, save for his own skill in art…” He’s one of those people terrible at the thing they love, he wanted to add.</p><p>However, he had felt once again Arslan’s inquisitive gaze on him, making him fall silent and wonder if he had said anything out of the ordinary. By now, Arslan should be used to his informal interaction with Narsas, shouldn’t he?</p><p>“Is there anything wrong?”</p><p>That seemed to snap Arslan out of his examination, making him turn once again towards the sight.</p><p>“Oh, it’s nothing,” he said with an awkward laugh. “I was just wondering about lord Narsas’ pieces. They must be quite unique.”</p><p>“It’s best if you don’t see them,” Daryun said in a dry voice. “His paintings can render people to blindness.”</p><p>This got a shocked laugh from Arslan, who slapped a hand to his face before the laugh could get out of his mouth, shooting him a guilty glance. Daryun was going to reassure him he’d take no offence if he laughed a bit about the <em>framatar</em>, but a fleeting shadow made both of them look at the sky, squinting their eyes and covering their faces with a hand.</p><p>A hawk was flying over their heads, its figure a mere dark shadow under the sun. Daryun had seen it enough times to be familiar with its shape.</p><p>“Oh, it’s one Kishwad’s birds.”</p><p>Said bird was flying down until its grey feathers were clearly distinguishable. Seeing that it had intentions of approaching them, Daryun wrapped his cloak around his forearm and raised it to let the bird perch on it. He regretted it as soon as he got a closer look. Bloody bird was carrying a dead mouse in his beak—Daryun begged him in his mind to not eat the thing on his arm, or Elam would talk his ear off about the bloodstains.</p><p>Arslan got closer to them, getting a good look at the hawk.</p><p>“You’re gorgeous,” he exclaimed, making Daryun snap his head to look at him. To his annoyance, the young man was looking at the damned bird. “I’ve seen you with lord Kishwad before. What’s your name?”</p><p>“Either Azrael or Soroush,” Daryun said, trying to remember which one was the one with the white spot over the beak. He tried to check whether this one had it, but the ingrate had his head completely turned towards Arslan, even though it was his arm where he was perched on.</p><p>“Either is a good name for a gorgeous thing like you,” Arslan said, smiling, caressing his head with a finger.</p><p>The bloody thing dropped the mouse at Arslan’s feet, turning his head and flapping his wings, moving around and pressing his claws on Daryun’s forearm. The shah frowned at it, resisting the urge to pluck out his feathers and make arrows with them.</p><p>“I’m afraid I can’t eat it, but thank you very much.” Arslan spoke to the bird as if it could understand him.</p><p>“He likes you,” Daryun said gruffly.</p><p>It had the nerve to turn its head back at him and snap its beak at him before taking flight. Daryun would have lied if he said that he hadn’t propelled the flurry thing a bit too strongly. Arslan kept his eyes on the hawk, watching it soar in the sky above Kishim, probably looking for a new prey.</p><p>“They must love lord Kishwad dearly,” Arslan commented softly.</p><p>“Of course, he raised them after all,” Daryun said, distracted with the sight as well. Another hawk had joined the first one in its flight, presumably its brother.</p><p>“They’re free and yet they choose to come back to him.”</p><p>Daryun sneaked a peek at Arslan. His dreamy expression and glossed over eyes made him turn away his eyes, clenching his jaw and his fists.</p><p>They spent a long moment just watching the hawks. And then, Daryun took off towards the top again, with Shabrang’s reins in hand, crossing behind Arslan. Soft footsteps and horse hooves followed him not long after.</p><p>“When we liberated the slaves in Ecbatana,” Daryun said, looking forward, “I cut the chains of one of them and told him he was a free man. He just took them up again and tied his own feet.”</p><p>He thought for a long moment what was he trying to convey to Arslan with this. In moments like this, he wished he paid more attention to his literature teacher when he was young.</p><p>“Sometimes, what holds us is something stronger than chains.”</p><p>He didn’t want Arslan to feel chained. Yet Daryun understood that for Arslan there were chains, ones he couldn’t see, that tied him to the shah of Pars. Each link had names engraved on them—names that the prince knew by heart.</p><p>He wished Arslan could one day consider them as the bricks of the bridge between them, instead of the links of chains that tied him. Yet Daryun knew it was improbable that Arslan ever came to that conclusion.</p><p>The young man didn’t answer him.</p><p>After that, they continued in silence. It didn’t take them long to reach the top of the hill, where graves after graves were placed in some sort of disorganized order. Some were simply marked with a large stone, and others had headstones of different size. <em>Wuzurgans</em> and well-off <em>azadans </em>built mausoleums to keep their family members together, and royal family had a mausoleum separated from the rest of the cemetery which Daryun could see from where they were. He frowned when he saw it.</p><p>When they were deciding what to do with Andragoras’ remains, some noble had tried to suggest burying him in the royal mausoleum, for he had served the country for two decades after all. Shahir had been the one to tell Parsians that when Sassan died, Andragoras had his corpse burned with the rest of the royal family. The rest of said family, including children and elders, had been alive when he had set fire to their manor.</p><p>Tahamenay was the only one resting in the royal mausoleum, with an empty space next to hers that Andragoras had reserved for himself. Narsas and Daryun were disturbed at the idea of burying her with her tormentor, so they had burned Andragoras’ corpse as well, scattering his ashes in the mountains.</p><p>A fitting ending.</p><p>Daryun followed Arslan closely. Sometime when they had been climbing the hill, Arslan had picked a bunch of red poppies. He made a beeline for a certain grave, and Daryun followed him unhurriedly once he tied the horses’ rein to a branch.  </p><p>It had a simple headstone, placed close to another one of the same cut. On top of it, it was engraved “<em>Sareh, daughter of Behnam” </em>and a brief prayer to Mithra. The one next to it was “<em>Nadia, daughter of Hushang</em>.”</p><p>“This is my nursemaid and her daughter’s graves,” Arslan said per explanation.</p><p>He didn’t elaborate further and Daryun wasn’t planning to ask him, but he was admittedly confused. He had thought Arslan would pay his respects to his mother first.</p><p>Daryun merely stood there, solemnly silent a few steps behind him, as Arslan cleared the weeds and the dirt on the headstones. There was a well nearby, from which he carried a bit of water and washed the headstones. Arslan divided the flowers, placing half on Sareh’s grave, and half on Nadia’s. He placed one orange on each one as well.</p><p>“Does Your Majesty mind if I introduce you?”</p><p>Arslan’s question startled Daryun for its suddenness. He rushed to answer.</p><p>“I don’t.”</p><p>Arslan merely nodded. Daryun couldn’t see his face from where he was, only his hunched figure kneeling in front of the headstones. The young man kept his hair tied in a low ponytail, letting Daryun glimpse the tense neck muscles and his hands gripping tightly his pants. He seemed younger like that, mumbling a prayer for the deceased.</p><p>“Hi, nanny,” he said, his low voice carried by the breeze. “I came sooner this year to see Nadia and you. Uh…” he hesitated, “I’m leaving. I’m getting married in three days, so I’ve come to say goodbye. About next year… or from now on… I don’t think I’ll come back.”</p><p>Arslan’s voice was so small at the end that Daryun almost didn’t hear him. Something in Daryun’s chest felt constricted, as if a hand squeezed his heart. Hard. The bright smile he had seen on Arslan’s face in the city and the fond gaze when he had looked at the city flashed through his mind, making him clench his fist tightly.</p><p>But he couldn’t look away.</p><p>“I’ve asked lord Shapur and sir Shahir to come in my stead at <em>Frawardigan</em>,” Arslan said. “I’ll remind them in my letters, and I shall remember you as well once I’m in Ecbatana.” Then, the young man raised his eyes towards him, and Daryun stepped forward. “This is my future <em>hamsar</em>, nanny. His Majesty is the shah of Pars, and he’s taking good care of Badakhshan.”</p><p>Arslan wasn’t looking at him, but at the other headstone, yet Daryun bowed deeply to Sareh’s tomb anyway. It seemed obvious that Arslan was resolved to keep thirty years of remembrance for his nursemaid, which placed her high in his <em>namzad’s</em>, his betrothed, esteem. Daryun should respect that.</p><p>“I’ve brought you an orange, Nadia,” he mumbled to the other one. “It was Roya who gave them to me. You can bet it’s sweet.” He seemed to hesitate a little more, before he said, “I’m sure you’re tired to hear this, but I’m sorry I couldn’t get Kaveh buried next to you.”</p><p>Arslan rose from his spot, brushing the leaves and dirt from his knees. Daryun stepped back to give him enough space. Before heading elsewhere, Arslan looked at the headstones once more.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he muttered, turning away.</p><p>Afterwards, Daryun followed him silently to the royal mausoleum, a respectable sized construction of white marble. There, Arslan repeated his ritual, cleaning Tahamenay’s grave of dirt and weeds. However, there were no intimate words, no farewell, just a mumbled prayer for her. The young man knelt in front of her for a long moment, but he said no words.</p><p>He merely rose and left.</p><p>In no rush to follow—Arslan was heading with short, slow steps to the horses—Daryun bowed to Tahamenay’s grave and muttered a quick prayer.</p><p>“I hope you can rest in peace now,” he said to her grave.</p><p>No one answered.</p><p>***</p><p>Later in the night, Daryun was still working in the Royal Office of the castle. Once he finished what he had in hand, he’d rest in one of the castle’s rooms.</p><p>Damned Narsas hadn’t solved the issue of the Badakh soldiers’ ranks with Farhad at all. They had merely drafted a document where most the points were a question mark because they didn’t have the shah’s approval when they wrote them. However, Farhad’s ideas were good—the man was still a genius, even though Ashi hadn’t smiled on him during the war with the Lusitanians. The memory of Farhad crying bitter tears, the last time Daryun had seen him express any kind of emotion, still left him shaken.</p><p>Narsas had asked him about their outing when they had dined together. Though he understood that there shouldn’t be any problem, Daryun had only told him where they had gone. What Arslan had said in front of the graves, he kept them to himself. He didn’t doubt Narsas’ discretion—it was just that they had seemed too personal for Daryun to tell. </p><p>The moon was high in the sky when he finally finished and blew out the candles. Once he left the office, dismissing the guards that had stayed with him until then, he saw Arslan in front of his door, waiting with his back leaning on the wall. Jimsa was next to him, expressionless.</p><p>Since the incident with the guard, Jimsa’s attitude had changed a lot towards the young prince. He wasn’t sure what had happened when he had apologized to him, but since then, he was much more tolerant of the prince’s movements around the castle and in the city. Instead of rolling eyes and sighs of frustration, he carried out his duties in earnest as well.</p><p>“Do you need anything?” Daryun asked Arslan with a worried frown. What had made the young man seek him so late?</p><p>Arslan faced him with a hint of embarrassment, looking down.</p><p>“I… I was just wondering if Your Majesty would like to see another view of Kishim,” he said with hesitation, his voice increasingly quiet, “since Your Majesty liked the view from the hill…”</p><p>It was not yet so late, Daryun thought. He wasn’t even feeling as tired as he should. Besides, he could only wonder when he had arrived, a spark of unreasonable remorse for making him wait.</p><p>“Of course,” he agreed readily. “Next time you come, just knock on the door.”</p><p>The halls were almost empty. Only a passing servant threw the three of them a curious look. Arslan led the way, with Daryun next to him. The prince was asking him about what his afternoon, which Daryun didn’t mind telling. Jimsa followed them a few steps behind, until they got to the tower’s staircase, where Daryun got a hunch of where they were going.  </p><p>“Your Majesty, His Highness told me in advance where you were going, and I sent men to check the place earlier. The site is clear. I’ll wait here,” Jimsa said, getting a nod from Daryun.</p><p>The staircase was narrow, each stair tall and slippery. From behind, Daryun got a superb view of Arslan’s backside and his slender thighs tensing as he climbed the stairs. He forced his eyes to focus on his own steps.</p><p>Before the view, Daryun felt the cool night breeze on his face and noticed the silence. Then, he understood why Arslan had brought him up here.</p><p>The night sky was clear and the moon almost full, illuminating each building softly like pearls. He could see the lights in the houses, warm and soft, and the silvery reflection on the river at the other side of the city walls. Even the camp was visible from where they were, the torches and campfires mere dots of light in the distance.</p><p>Arslan was sitting sideways on the wall, with an arm over the crenel, where Daryun placed his hand as well. He was resting his chin on his arm, an affectionate smile on his face. The breeze blew gently over his bangs.</p><p>“Does Your Majesty like it?” Arslan asked, his voice breaking the comfortable silence between them.</p><p>“It’s a stunning view,” Daryun said, his voice merely rising above a whisper. “I admit it might compare to Ecbatana’s beauty, though it still pales under the capital of the Great Continental Road.”</p><p>“I might look forward to seeing it then,” Arslan said playfully. “But give it time, Your Majesty. This sight will get even better with time once we leave behind completely the weight of the outbreak.” There was unmistakable pride in his voice, the blind pride a parent fell for their child.</p><p>Which, speaking of the outbreak and parents…</p><p>“Was it the fever?” Daryun asked quietly. Arslan threw him a confused look, so he specified, “did your nanny pass away because of the outbreak?” </p><p>He regretted the question as soon as he asked it, seeing his smile disappear and his posture go tense. He assumed it had been the fever, since lots of people had died in the outbreak and Arslan hadn’t seemed sorrowful when they left the hill.</p><p>However, there was something in the upset angle of his mouth and the downward gaze that told him it might not be as easy as he thought.</p><p>“There’s no need to tell me if you feel uncomfortable with it,” he assured him.</p><p>With regret pooling in his stomach, he turned back to the night view, which was somehow less bright and silvery now. A small crick caught his attention, where Arslan had his hand in a tight fist.</p><p>“I… I don’t mind,” Arslan said, forcing the words out of his mouth. There was a long moment of silent hesitation, in which Daryun made no move and no sound at all, as if not to scare him. “My nanny… my nanny died in the outbreak, but not of the fever. She…” His voice broke at the end, and he buried his face in his hand.</p><p>“Don’t force yourself,” Daryun said, placing a hand on his knee.</p><p>It was obvious that the memory was very painful for the prince, and he didn’t need to rummage in his wound.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Arslan muttered, his voice muffled. He rose his head again, but against what Daryun thought, his eyes were dry.</p><p>“There’s no need to be,” Daryun assured him. “The memories of the outbreak cause much pain to everyone in Kishim, and it’s only natural that you’re affected too.”</p><p>To this, Arslan chuckled, though there was no trace of humour in his voice. This kind of dry laughs didn’t suit him, Daryun thought dully.</p><p>“Your Majesty didn’t see it then,” Arslan said, his eyes fixed on the city. “Kishim was a nightmare. Those who could had already escaped to other cities or to the countryside, and all who were left were those without means or with sick relatives. There were bonfires every night, to burn the corpses. Then it got to a point where there weren’t enough people to pick up the bodies of the dead, left to rot in their houses or in whatever corner of the street they died in. Merchants refused to come, so in the last year, there was a huge shortage of food. It reached a point… it reached a point where people smothered their babies as they were born and sold their children to get money. But no one wanted a <em>ghulam </em>from Kishim.”   </p><p>The story Arslan told was one Daryun was familiar with. In the third year after Daryun was back to reconquer Pars, it was an epidemic which decimated the Lusitanian troops and allowed him to take back the west of Pars. What Arslan described was precisely what Daryun had encountered in Zabol.</p><p>He could only wonder about the sufferings of a young boy without backers in a city submerged in chaos. Was then when the prince had been assaulted for the first time?</p><p>Daryun had seen the registers of that period. The disease didn’t reach Darwaz, where the prince had been living since he was seven, and most of the southern cities closed their doors to fend off the illness. Why had the prince left a secure place to come to the centre of all?</p><p>Hence, he couldn’t resist the question that escaped his mouth.</p><p>“Why did you come back to Kishim?”</p><p>Arslan threw him a lopsided smile.</p><p>“How could I not come back?” Arslan said in answer, his chin resting back on his arm. “I’m not Andragoras’ son. The people of this city knew it, yet they all raised me and educated me as if I was. They bowed to me, called me “Your Highness” and fed and kept me warm even though I was nobody of use. What had I done to earn this treatment? What made me different from the children from the orphanage?”</p><p>Daryun couldn’t help but feel an intense incredulity at what he was hearing. He observed Arslan’s profile. Nothing in his thin lips or in the upset angle of his eyebrows suggested a lie.</p><p>“But your mother…”</p><p>He didn’t know what to ask. Surely, Tahamenay must have ordered them to care for him?</p><p>“I only saw my mother a few times while she was alive,” Arslan said, expressionless. There was no wavering in his voice, no change in his emotions. Just plain facts. Why did it attract Daryun’s gaze then? “My nanny told me my mother asked her to take care of me in her stead.”</p><p>What could a nanny do? Daryun thought, at a loss for words. Though Tahamenay must have felt at peace wherever she was, given that Sareh surely cared for Arslan a lot, for him to remember her so much. After all, the pain of the loss was just as big as the love given in life.</p><p>Daryun left behind the topic of his mother, for Arslan’s apathy might not mean that he was comfortable with it. He had found out that Arslan rarely said “no”.</p><p>“What did you want to achieve by coming back?”</p><p>He could admit that his desire to understand him was intense. What had Arslan expected to achieve when he himself was merely a child, with no power or forces to speak of?</p><p>“To ease as much suffering as I could; though people still died in heaps,” Arslan said, the distress bleeding into his voice. However, the expression on his face was determined. “I used the little power I had as prince of Badakhshan. What money could fix, I gave money. What favours could solve, I acted as a bridge. And if money nor favours could do the trick, I still have a healthy body, four limbs and head attached. I did what I could, even if it wasn’t enough. But asking me to sit and wait in Darwaz wasn’t an option.”</p><p>Daryun could understand in his bones what Arslan was saying. He had felt the same burn, the same ache and thirst when he had been thirteen and he had come back to scorched lands and Parsian heads on pikes.</p><p>However, these were words easily said, but hardly aimed for. It meant to reject a simple, comfortable life in general Javad’s territories, just to do a meagre effort under Andragoras’ thumb. And for what? For the care people gave him when he was too young to take care of himself? For kindness? He had seen too many people treat human lives as disposable. Was “kindness” even worth a mention in those people’s eyes?</p><p>Most people wouldn’t understand Arslan. But Daryun could.</p><p>After all, why had Daryun taken the throne of Pars?</p><p>Narsas might give a long speech of why he had devoted his life and his wit to the kingdom, but Daryun was a simpler man.</p><p>As young as he was then, he had concluded that if no one did anything, Lusitanians were going to destroy Pars. So, even if it was just him and a few hundred men, he’d do what he could to prevent further destruction and ruin.</p><p>His uncle Vahriz had warned him he might end up losing his life. They could take the long route, wait for the Lusitanians’ power to wane and attack while the enemy is weakened. But Daryun didn’t want to wait.</p><p>And he didn’t want Pars to wait until Lusitanians had destroyed all their means of survival.</p><p>Even then, Daryun had gotten in return the throne of the richest country of the continent. What would have Arslan received in return for his efforts? A lifetime of illness that acted up from time to time, with no tangible benefits to speak of?</p><p>Still, when Daryun looked at Arslan’s brilliant gaze while he contemplated the city under their feet, he couldn’t see the slightest remorse.</p><p>A marriage with a kindred soul. Daryun couldn’t bring himself to dislike it.</p><p>“Tell me more about Kishim,” Daryun said. “I’d like to hear it.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hi, guys! ＼(＾▽＾)／I'm back again with a new chapter! </p><p>As always, thank you so much for the comments, kudos, subscribes and bookmarks! We have broke 1000 hit and 100 kudos, which is honestly much more than I expected at this rate! (I mean... I'm positive I haven't even reached a third of the story yet, so thanks so much for the faith you have in my fic). </p><p>This was something like an interlude, but we have positive Arslan-Daryun interaction! I think it's strange when characters hit it off as soon as they meet XD (I'm a big fan of slow burn). It's natural that Arslan feels mostly confused around attraction, even if he get good vibes of Daryun (though our shah definitely knows that he's feeling horny). </p><p>I'm stuck a bit around the next chapter (it's an important moment of the story after all) and I'm back to classes (yay, commute... QAQ) and I have exams coming up, so next update will take a bit more. Surprise chapter is almost ready though (¬‿¬ )</p><p>I hope you all stay safe in the meantime (masks, distance, hand washing!) and see you all soon! </p><p>
  <strong>Next update: May 14th! </strong>
</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. BONUS: Arslan and the marzbans of Pars</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi! So here we are with the bonus update! </p><p>Reminding you all that the present is set in year 325. </p><p>Heed the warnings of the tags!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><strong> <em>Marzban</em> </strong> <strong> Shapur. Year 320.</strong></p><p>In the golden light of the sunset, Shapur was saddling his horse in the stables.</p><p>It was a good day to go. A group of loyal men waited for him on the outskirts, ready to leave. Tonight there was a new moon, which would help them avoid unwanted gazes, and the clouds would cover the stars. They had no need of them to get to their destination, but the darkness would aid them if a team was sent after them.</p><p>Time ago, Shapur was sure that his shah wouldn’t be so tyrannical as to not let a few men leave… now he was confident that wouldn’t happen.</p><p>He had already bid his farewell to Esfan. Shapur lamented nothing more than to leave his brother here. Yet he believed Kishim would be a safer place for him, safer than where he was going, if Esfan heeded his order and never approached the castle and the army. Nobody in the army knew he had a half-brother.</p><p>Shapur kept him a secret because Esfan’s mother was a <em>ghulam</em>. Years ago, Shapur’s mother hated her for lying with his husband, so she sent mother and child away in the dead of winter. By the time Shapur had found them, the mother was dead, but not so the child. He had paid a nursemaid and a servant to raise his brother, while her mother looked the other way, pretending not to know. Shapur suspected she felt guilty as well.</p><p>The mistakes of the adults weren’t mistakes of the children.</p><p>Esfan had given him a generous amount of money from his savings, and Shapur had prepared thorough bags. According to his plans, he’d be travelling for a couple of months, so it’d be best to be well prepared.</p><p>Though, again, his heart ached at the thought of leaving Kishim, the city he was born in and where he had grown up. But his heart ached more when he thought of the people he swore to defend dying at the hands of those who should protect them, and his determination got stronger.</p><p>When he had heard of Karvan, he had thought people exaggerated. He had even punched a man for saying scandalous things such as “our shah kills his own people in spite”.</p><p>But two months ago, his shah had ordered him to raise his sword against an innocent girl. His refusal to comply had met a demotion, to Shapur’s utter incredulity. His incredulity had met with horror when another man stepped forward to do what he couldn’t. And his horror had met a shocked realisation and a distressed crisis of loyalty.</p><p>Shapur had looked with fresh eyes at what happened around him. And he didn’t like what he saw.</p><p>He was a man of action. He knew not of double faces, plots and schemes. So he went for the straightforward way to fix his kingdom, before his kingdom bled to death.</p><p>The door creaked open, and footsteps entered the stables.</p><p>Shapur stopped his movements, putting a hand on his sword. He was at the stables of his own home, but he wouldn’t put past a servant to sell him for a gold coin. They had just lost their jobs, after all.</p><p>But what appeared from the door was the silvery head of the young prince.</p><p>Ah. Another child innocent of his father’s sins.</p><p>“Your Highness,” Shapur said, bowing in front of him.</p><p>“Lord Shapur,” Arslan answered in the high voice of a child that had yet to grow. He would soon, though. The boy was almost fourteen, and he would be of age in less than two years. </p><p>The prince did nothing but look at him.</p><p>“What can I do to be of help?” Shapur asked a bit impatiently. He should get to the gates at sunset, so he could mix in with the merchants leaving the city.</p><p>The boy extended him a bag.</p><p>“This is for you.”</p><p>Shapur took the inconspicuous brown bag, and his eyes widened as plates as he felt the round coins through the fabric. Handfuls of gold <em>dinars</em> greeted him when he opened the bag.</p><p>“Your Highness, what is this for?”</p><p>Was the boy trying to bribe him?</p><p>“I saw you last week at the armoury, getting a new sword and bow,” the boy said with a resigned smile, “and yesterday, at the cemetery.” Shapur jolted. He didn’t know someone had seen him in the cemetery. He had thought he should say goodbye to his parents. “Your servants and your <em>ghulams</em> have all been released. It’s very kind of you to have liberated your <em>ghulams.</em>”</p><p>“I just thought I didn’t need that many servants,” Shapur replied in a dry voice.</p><p>So prince Arslan had discovered his intentions to leave. Had he told anyone? Was the royal guard on their way to arrest him for desertion? But the money didn’t make sense…</p><p>“If you’re leaving,” the prince continued to say, “you’ll need money. Wherever you go, I hope this money can help you.”</p><p>Shapur stared at the boy in sheer disbelief.</p><p>“Your Highness…”</p><p>“His Majesty pressed you far too much,” Arslan said with a distant gaze. “He pushed you far from the limits of your tolerance. I understand that lord Shapur might find unbearable to keep serving Badakhshan, and I just want to help a good man in his way out.”</p><p>The weight of the coins felt heavier when Shapur heard his words.</p><p>He remembered. Two months ago, while Shapur threw his sword aside, this powerless boy had been struggling and screaming for the shah’s mercy, while held down by general Pedram. To this day, the boy was still nursing the murdered girl’s mother, who had fallen terribly ill after her daughter’s death. All the while, the fever ran rampant in Kishim.</p><p>Suddenly, Shapur didn’t feel well letting the boy believe he was going to abandon the country.</p><p>“Your Highness, it’s not my intention to forsake this kingdom and its people,” Shapur said in earnest honesty. “But Badakhshan is rotten to the core. The only way out for our people is external help. I plan to get this help from somewhere else, but…” he swallowed, not knowing if he should continue.</p><p>If the boy spilled out his plan, everything would be over. However, when Shapur looked at him, the young man was smiling, with unshed tears shining in his eyes.</p><p>“I guessed lord Shapur wouldn’t simply leave Badakhshan behind. Don’t worry, I understand you can’t tell me more,” Arslan said, placing a hand on his arm. “I know you, lord Shapur, and I’m witness to your distress and your pain upon the state of Badakhshan. Go in peace. I hope the gods will grant you success, for everyone’s sake.”</p><p>The boy patted his arm and let his hand fall to his side. Even though those words had been clearly a farewell, Shapur couldn’t move.</p><p>A burning sensation had swarmed his chest, constricting his heart. Shapur found a shocked admiration for the generosity and benevolence of a boy yet to grow, and deep guilt assaulted him when he realised what his plan meant for him.</p><p>The prince of Badakhshan. A prince just in name, a well-known fact that his father held no love for him. Yet he did his job better than his father had ever done.</p><p>Shapur had watched the boy helping out in the <em>bimaristan</em>. Changing clothes, cleaning bodies and messes, carrying corpses. He did them all, contributing whatever effort he could to fight the outbreak.</p><p>Not so long ago, the boy had fallen ill, finally succumbing to the proximity of the sickness. Shapur had never seen so much combined effort from all the doctors and the townspeople to care for a patient. He had thought at the time that it was loyalty to Badakhshan’s crown. Maybe he had been wrong.</p><p>He tried to think what would all those people think if his plan brought death to this boy.</p><p>But Andragoras was in his prime, and Badakhshan was dying fast. How could Shapur weight this boy’s single life to the lives of all the people of the kingdom?</p><p>How could Shapur ignore his duty for the life of a single boy? Was this a test of what was to come, to see if Shapur had the determination to carry on?</p><p>Gathering his courage and taking a deep breath, Shapur got on his knees in front of the prince with his arms extended and his gift on his palms. Maybe he’d achieve a plan that satisfied both of his demands.</p><p>“I, Shapur, son of Ardashir, express my deepest gratitude for Your Highness’ graces. I will do my utmost effort to accomplish what I’m set out to do. May gods keep you in good health and grant you good fortune until we see each other again.”</p><p>Only when he was out of the city, riding under the light of the stars, he wondered where the prince had gotten the money from.</p><p>Well, the boy was a prince. It was only natural that he had lots of money.</p><p>***</p><p><strong> <em>Marzban </em> </strong> <strong>Kishwad. Year 325.</strong></p><p>Kishwad had been cleaning out the remaining spots of resistance when a messenger informed him that the damned prince had been found.</p><p>When they were approaching there, Kishwad made out from afar a young man with stark white hair, dressed in a plain shirt and well-worn trousers, surrounded by raised spears. If he wore the scarf on his hand, he would look more like a wandering minstrel instead of a young prince.</p><p>However, when Kishwad could get a good look at this prince, he had to look twice to make sure he was seeing correctly. Well… this he would leave to lord Narsas to fix, but he was certainly grateful that his tastes had always run towards females instead of males.</p><p>“Well, once again, our lord strategist was spot on,” Kishwad said with a laugh. “Greetings, Your Highness,” he bowed his head slightly, though the effect was strange, as it was him who was on top of a horse, and Arslan had to raise his face to see him.</p><p>“Greetings to you too. <em>Tahir</em> Kishwad, I assume?” Arslan asked politely.</p><p>“Oh? You know of me?”</p><p>“The fame of the undefeated <em>marzban</em> who wields twin swords precedes you.”</p><p>At this, Kishwad raised his eyebrows and laughed.</p><p>“And I thought only Misrians fear me.” Kishwad dismounted and approached him. “It’s good to hear that I’m also known in such a faraway place as Kishim, so they can fear me accordingly.”</p><p>Arslan stared at him. Behind them, Kishwad made out the sounds of faint sobbing. Children were looking at them from the doors of the temple, though some soldiers threatened them to shut up.</p><p>“Now, I would like the prince to accompany us somewhere. The <em>framatar</em> would like a meeting with Your Highness,” he said, making a wide gesture with his hand, so the spears that had been pointing at Arslan were lowered down.</p><p>“I wouldn’t mind meeting this <em>framatar</em>,” Arslan said. “However, being that I will accompany you, there’s no more need for you to detain these children, isn’t it?”</p><p>Only then did Kishwad notice that two soldiers were holding a child each. One sobbed quietly, and the other had gone quiet from fear, a damp spot on his trousers. He frowned, but he supposed he couldn’t blame his <em>framandar</em> for anything, since there was no real harm done.</p><p>From the gates of the temple, there were new sounds of crying, and some others were muttering quietly. Priests and older children held the younger ones in place, watching the events with wide eyes and tears rolling down their faces.</p><p>“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Your Highness,” Kishwad replied in a playful tone. He was curious how the prince would react. “I’ve been given orders to ensure you won’t disappear midway.”</p><p>“I’m sure that a man of your capacities can find a way to keep an eye on me without these children. Let them enter the temple, and I’ll accompany you wherever you want,” Arslan insisted, looking at the general in the eyes unblinkingly.</p><p>“Your Highness isn’t really in the best position to negotiate.”</p><p>“Your fame exceeds just your valour in the battlefield. I heard <em>marzban</em> Kishwad is an honourable, just man, who wouldn’t hurt children, sick and elders.”</p><p>Kishwad couldn’t hold back a good-natured laughter. He had to admit that this prince was most interesting in the way he kept insisting, even though he was in the most disadvantageous position. In the end, he couldn’t help but to order one of his men to bring shackles and chains.</p><p>“Well, I suppose I must live up to my reputation then,” he said with a smile. He gestured a soldier to bring shackles and chains forward. “However, we must ensure you won’t run from us. Wear these and we will let the children join their peers inside the temple.”</p><p>“Alright.”</p><p>Arslan nodded easily, barely making a sound when someone took away the <em>acinaces</em> at his feet and put the shackles around his ankles. Likewise, he let them tie his hands at his back with another pair of shackles, wincing when they made the metal contacted with his bruises.</p><p>Another soldier tied a chain around his waist. Kishwad felt satisfied with that and signalled his men to lift the net and to let the hostages go. One of them raised and run, but the other turned around, looking back at Arslan, who smiled in encouragement. With a nagging from the blunt end of a spear, he followed the other into the temple.</p><p>Kishwad noticed the prince’s relieved sigh.</p><p>“Take care of them, Nimruz,” he said.</p><p>A young man nodded back at Arslan, with silent tears leaving clear trails on his soot stained face.</p><p>Kishwad mounted his horse again, and the soldier handed Arslan’s chain to him. Then they set out for the castle.</p><p>This would be interesting.</p><p>***</p><p><strong> <em>Marzban</em> </strong> <strong> Khwarshed. Year 325.  </strong></p><p>“Ah… Ah! So good… my lord! H-Harder!”</p><p>Khwarshed thrusted hard inside of the young man in front of him, his hips setting a furious and unforgiving pace. The wet sounds and the loud smack of skin against skin filled the tent, competing in volume with the lewd moans of his companion, leaving no doubt to what was happening in the <em>marzban’s</em> tent.</p><p>The smooth and tight heat around him pushed him farther and farther into the pleasure, lost in the sensations, and he felt himself pulsing, his climax near. He let himself fall on top of his lover, lying on his stomach, snapping his hips in short, quick thrusts and locking his legs with his.</p><p>“M-My lord… P-please, more, more… Ah!”</p><p>“Such a dirty mouth, huh? You want everyone to know that you have <em>marzban</em> Khwarshed’s cock in you?”</p><p>He slid two fingers inside of his mouth, feeling his clever tongue swirling around his digits. Not letting up the rhythm in his hips, he sucked and grazed his neck with his teeth. The little thing under him shivered hard and trembled, so Khwarshed let go of his restraints and bit down on his neck.</p><p>The pretty thing moaned hard and long, his voice muffled by his fingers, and tensed, arching his back under him. Soon, the young man fell back on the mattress, spent, and his lips going slack around the fingers still in his mouth.</p><p>“Shhh… there we go, good boy…”</p><p>Now that the other was finished, Khwarshed got on fours again, bringing his hips closer to him and forcing him to raise his backside so he could pound properly into the tight, welcoming body.</p><p>“Come on, clench a little…”</p><p>The young man complied, and Khwarshed just thrusted furiously seeking his own release, plunging into him in hard lunges. His lover moaned and whimpered under him, overstimulated. He was tight, so good, such a good boy for him…</p><p>The pleasure built in a pool of heat at the base of his back, so much that he felt unable to stop.</p><p>He pounded him hard for a last few times before he drove himself deep into him and came, panting next to his ear. The strength left his arms, so he simply let both of them fall back on the mattress, his hairy chest tightly pressed against his lover’s back. He was softening, still buried to the hilt in the wet heat, but he felt no need to pull himself out.</p><p>Instead, he peppered the nape of his young lover with fluttery kisses, making the young man laugh quietly and squirm under him.</p><p>“My lord… you’re crushing me. Move.”</p><p>“Such nerve,” Khwarshed chastised him, but complied anyway, pulling out.</p><p>It was a delightful sight, even settled down next to him, his head propped up with a hand. His dark-haired companion stayed lying down on his stomach, his skin littered with lovebites and Khwarshed’s handprints on his hips. The long, wavy hair rested on his side, letting him admire the view of his elegant, lithe body—the curve of his neck, the shell of his ears, even the long, dextrous fingers were as graceful as if sculpted by a skilled artist.</p><p>He was one of his <em>harcis</em>, a young man in his thirties that had been with him almost a decade now.</p><p>Over the years, Khwarshed’s inner house had gotten big enough that he no longer was sure about how many people were in his courtyard, especially since some had left or died during the war. There should be still around twenty-something people? Not that he cared much about it.</p><p>Since he had this man, he had taken no new <em>harci</em> into his household.</p><p>He had met him in the war. Back then, his harci was still an <em>azat</em>, barely twenty, lost in the burning world that Lusitanians had created in Pars. Khwarshed had been keenly aware that he had approached him mainly for protection and a high status. Yet, somehow, he had been unable to refuse him. The <em>marzban</em> didn’t dwell long in it—he wasn’t a man suited for reflecting on the matters of heart.</p><p>Much less when he looked at him with those bright blue eyes, perpetually smiling. Khwarshed used to hate when his <em>harcis</em> grew old, their faces wrinkled and white spotting their hair, but he couldn’t bring himself to hate the smile lines and the crow’s feet on his lover’s eyes.</p><p>Which, speaking of smiles…</p><p>“What is my lord thinking about?” His lover asked him playfully, resting his head on his folded arms.  </p><p>Khwarshed rested a hand between his shoulder blades, caressing his back idly up and down. He had always liked his milky white skin—so soft, and the marks of their lovemaking looked stunning on him. Maybe he’d have him stand naked later, so he could see his seed dripping out of him. It was a sight that never failed to arouse him.</p><p>“I met the prince today.”</p><p>“Prince Arslan of Badakhshan, I suppose?”</p><p>Khwarshed nodded. The four <em>marzbans</em> had been in a meeting with lord Narsas and His Majesty, as well as the new Badakh officers. Shapur and the new Head of the Civil Office, Shahir, had been adamant in giving one tenth of the annual profits from Badakhshan’s commerce with Gilan to the prince as part of his dowry. However, now that Badakhshan was part of Pars, surrendering the territory’s funds to a private party, even if said private party was soon to be the shah’s <em>harci</em>, was no matter they could decide upon on their own.</p><p>Somehow, the shah and lord Narsas had let themselves be convinced of such nonsense. From now on, prince Arslan would receive one tenth of the annual profits of the commerce with Gilan. So they had called the prince to ask him to sign the contract.</p><p>When he saw the prince, something in him had immediately attracted Khwarshed’s attention.</p><p>“He’s indeed a rare beauty,” Khwarshed said. The night of the victory banquet he had got drunk too soon to remember what the prince looked like. “Fair skin, blue eyes, white hair. Younger than you, more delicate looking.”</p><p>His lover raised a dark eyebrow at him, not amused at all.</p><p>“Should I feel jealous, my lord? It seems like you’re interested in that prince.”</p><p>Khwarshed huffed derisively, a cunning grin spreading on his face as his hand slid down to his buttocks, groping the soft cheek.</p><p>“Why would you feel jealous, huh? Aren’t you the one with my come inside, little vixen?”</p><p>His voice was low as he spoke next to his ear, his fingers slowly slithering between the cheeks and finding the puffy hole. It was still wet and sticky from the oils he had used to open him up, and he had no trouble sliding a couple of fingers in. He thrusted in a few times, slow and lazy, and then made a scissoring move. The young man sucked in a breath, biting down a moan.</p><p>“Still so open and wet,” he grunted.</p><p>Khwarshed moved them again so his lover was lying on top of him, his member already hard again—his stamina was still matchless even for his age. Besides, Khwarshed was well-kept for his age; every bit of his tall figure was made of iron muscles and hard edges. The built of a warrior and the strength of a bull. In comparison, his young lover looked almost too delicate under his coarse hands.</p><p>Adding a third finger, Khwarshed thrusted them in all at once, making him gasp and moan, the sound spreading in the tent.</p><p>“You know, he looks a lot like you. I wonder if he’s just as you are in the bedroom.”</p><p>In a flash, the young man grabbed Khwarshed’s leaking shaft and pumped him hard with his hand, making him grunt.</p><p>“As if you could take more than just one me,” his lover said. The defiance was clear in his eyes.</p><p>With a groan, the marzban simply took out his fingers and, showing off his strength, he flipped the young man easily. He pressed his member inside oh his hole again, still loose from their activities before. The young man didn’t hold in his moan, a lewd sound that turned Khwarshed on even more.</p><p>As he settled between his thighs, he rode him holding his hips off the bed. The marzban didn’t rush, setting instead a shallow, slow pace, watching his lover pant and whine, holding the bed sheets so hard his knuckles turn white. The frothy cum from before leaked out of him as he pounded in him, each thrust stronger than the other. With a hand in his nape, he slammed his weight in him and the young man let out a long moan.</p><p>“As if I had a need for anyone else.”</p><p><strong> <em>Marzban</em> </strong> <strong> Farhad. Year 325.</strong></p><p>The banquet hall was bustling with the noise befitting a celebration. Music, conversation and the tinkling sound of silverware and gold cups making toasts filled the air, the occasional laughter standing out of the crowd.</p><p>Farhad downed his cup of wine. He was far too sober for this.</p><p>From his seat, he had an unobstructed view of the main seats, where the shah and his new <em>harci</em> sat, overlooking the crowd.</p><p>At first, His Majesty’s <em>harci</em> had been relaxed as well, enjoying the food and the drinks, but as the time went by, he was getting progressively more and more nervous.</p><p>There was a time when Farhad had sat next to his own <em>harci</em>, both of them new to their situation. But instead of closing up as the prince seemed to do, his <em>harci</em> had expressed his nervousness by babbling a lot and speaking of nothing and everything at the same time. Which was just as well, since when Farhad was nervous, he tended to speak less.</p><p>Nowadays, he spoke little either, but it was mostly because nothing interested him much anymore.</p><p>However, because of the harci he once had, Farhad felt an unusual sympathy for them, the only thing that stood out amid his apathy.</p><p>It was also why he was approaching the newlyweds with a finely carved wood box, a slim case that felt too small in his hand.</p><p>“Your Majesty,” he greeted the shah, and gave a nod to the prince.</p><p>The prince that was no longer a prince.</p><p>“I hope you’re enjoying yourself, lord Farhad,” the shah said, with a warm smile.</p><p>“I am,” Farhad said, with a tone that implied that he was everything but enjoying himself. “I hope it doesn’t bother Your Majesty, that I present my wedding gift now.”</p><p>Usually, gifts were given to the new couple right after the ceremony, when the guests congratulate them. Farhad knew though that the shah wasn’t a stickler for useless protocols and wouldn’t mind him.  </p><p>“Of course not. It’s the heart what it counts.”</p><p>Farhad extended the slim box. However, instead of extending it to his shah, as it would have been proper, he gave it to the prince.</p><p>The young man jolted. Clearly he hadn’t expected Farhad to give the gift to him. Unsure, he turned to look at his husband, who gave an approving nod, though not devoid of curiosity. With his permission, the prince extended both hands and received his gift.</p><p>Curiously, prince Arslan opened the box. A gold bracelet laid on a velvet base.</p><p>Farhad noticed his shah’s stunned gaze shifting to him, but ignored it for the sake of watching the prince taking out the bracelet and observing it under the candlelight. It was a fine chain, each on the links shaped as a delicate leaf. The marzban huffed, giving himself a mental pat on the back—it would suit the prince. His wrist was thin enough for it.</p><p>“This is…” the shah said with unease. “Are you sure, Farhad?”</p><p>Prince Arslan peaked a look at the shah, understanding in a flash that something was amiss with the gift, and placing it again in the box.</p><p>Not for the first time, Farhad was reminded of the man that used to be with him.</p><p>“I am, Your Majesty,” he said. “He’s no longer around to wear it after all. It’ll suit your new <em>harci</em> much more than let it gather dust at my home.”</p><p>“If I’m not mistaken, this holds a great sentimental value for you.”</p><p>Farhad got that there had been a misunderstanding.</p><p>“This is not the one I got that time,” he replied in a gruff voice. “This is from his dowry. He never even wore it that much.”</p><p>He had chosen it because it was one of the few suitable pieces he could gift the new <em>harci</em> of his shah. His owner wore it just a couple of times much because “what would he do if he broke such an expensive thing?”</p><p>The shah looked much more appeased with his answer, letting Farhad offer him a cup with wine for a toast.</p><p>“Then I give you my thanks for the gift,” the shah said pleasantly, clinking his cup with his.</p><p>“No need for it.”</p><p>The young prince bowed his head to him, which made Farhad raise his eyebrows in surprise.</p><p>“I assume this was from a person greatly appreciated by lord Farhad. I shall take good care of it in their stead. Thank you very much for your thoughtful gift,” he said, his silvery voice pleasant and honest.</p><p>Farhad merely grunted something close to a courteous phrase and bowed to his shah to take his leave.</p><p>He didn’t want to keep looking at the <em>harci</em>, lest his heart bled anymore.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>In Gilan, fifteen years ago. Year 310.</strong>
</p><p>A fifteen years old young man walked down the bustling Gilan’s market. Even in his inconspicuous brown clothes and sand cape, his tall and muscular figure attracted the attention of the merchants. There was a menacing air to him. Something that spoke of danger.</p><p>Said young man went by the name of Daryun. Or the shah of Pars, whatever suited the speaker. He was in Gilan to meet with a potential backer, so he was incognito, though incognito was too much of a stretch for his figure.</p><p>He stopped by a weapons stall, contemplating with critic eyes the exposition of daggers and short swords. He was looking for something to carry on his back, maybe concealed in his belt, so he was always armed.</p><p>Serican weapons were the best, but with the war with the Lusitanians going on, Serican merchants didn’t even approach the Great Continental Road, using preferably the water route. In barely two years, Gilan had flourished from a fishing port to the most crowded merchant city on the southern coast, a feat that couldn’t be detached from the work of the Council of Merchants. Narsas had separated from him, claiming that it was absolutely necessary that he had a look at the council’s meetings records, so he could learn a thing or two.</p><p>“Young man, have a look at this one,” the merchant said with a lively smile, showing him a sumptuous dagger with a jewelled hilt. Even if the far corners of the continent, Parsian was the language used to commerce.</p><p>“Too flashy,” Daryun answered with a frown.</p><p>The merchant’s smile faltered. He had hoped that the young man would like something to show off, as most youths wanted, so he could sell the dagger at a high price.</p><p>“What about this one?”</p><p>He showed him a curved short sword, as long as his forearm.</p><p>“Impractical.”</p><p>“And this one?”</p><p>This time, the size and the appearance were right—a short dagger that could be kept in a sheath strapped to his forearm—but Daryun wasn’t convinced.</p><p>“What alloy was used to make this?”</p><p>“For as young as you look, you’re really knowledgeable, young boy!” The merchant said with good humour. “This was made with the best iron from Jinling mines, in combination with carbon!”</p><p>As Daryun was about to ask more questions, something crashed against his legs. Something soft.</p><p>Looking down, he was met with a pair of bright blue eyes.</p><p>A young child, no older than four, was looking back at him. Daryun couldn’t discern if they were a boy or a girl. The child had milky white skin, with rose, puffy cheeks and clear eyebrows. A turban of the same colour as his cream tunic covered their hair.</p><p>Even for someone who didn’t particularly like children, like Daryun, he could tell that this child was very cute and good-looking. The child smiled at him, his long eyelashes casting shadows over his cheeks.</p><p>“Hi,” they said, holding the edge of Daryun’s cape.</p><p>“Hi,” he said back, uncomfortable.</p><p>He looked back and around, but no one made a move to retrieve the child. No one was even looking at them.</p><p>“Where are your parents?” He asked the child.</p><p>They merely shook their head. Daryun couldn’t make sense of it. Did it mean that the child had come with someone else?</p><p>“Who did you come with?”</p><p>“With nanny.”</p><p>“And where is your nanny?” Daryun asked, arming himself with patience.</p><p>This question made the child pause for a second.</p><p>“She took Nadia to… to…” The child stopped, frowning. “To…”</p><p>“Okay, okay,” Daryun said, feeling impatient. He really had no time to lose with a child, but he couldn’t just let him roam the market like that. The child was obviously some rich family’s child; someone could either kidnap him or sell him. “Let me tell you what. I’ll carry you, so let’s see if we can find your nanny, okay?”</p><p>The child was scrutinizing him, and nodded with cute graveness when he heard his suggestion, extending his chubby hands towards him. Daryun couldn’t help feeling a bit of fond exasperation, lifting the child to eye level.</p><p>“Did no one tell you not to talk to strangers?”</p><p> “Nanny said not talk to bad people,” the child said. “You’re good.”</p><p>“Oh, really?” Daryun said with a dry laugh.</p><p>A child said he was good. Figures. Amused, he wondered if the child would remember this once they grew up, and if they’d know how lucky they had been that Daryun had no ill intentions.</p><p>With firm hands, he held the child high, and asked him if he saw his nanny. They merely shook their head. It was to be expected; the market was bustling with activity, people coming and going with certainty or just strolling down the market, but so close to each other that they bumped constantly against someone.</p><p>The teen adjusted the child on his hip, so he got his money pouch covered. If he got too careless, he was just asking to get pickpocketed.</p><p>“What’s your name?” Daryun asked. He should at least know their name, since nothing told him whether it was a boy or a girl.</p><p>“Aaa-slan,” the child answered, making an obvious effort.</p><p>“Ashlan?” Daryun asked. Figures it would be a unisex name.</p><p>“No,” the child said, shaking his head. “Aaa-ssslan.”</p><p>“Aslan?” Daryun thought for a second. “Arslan?”</p><p>The child nodded vigorously, with a bright smile.</p><p>A boy then, Daryun thought with amusement. They walked down the market for a bit, and the child kept looking right and left. Yet there was no sign of his nanny. Though he could widen the scope of search, Daryun didn’t want to get too far from the place where he had initially found the boy. A child this small couldn’t have gotten too far without adult supervision.</p><p>The weapons stall, a fabric stall, a doctor’s office, a pet shop, a toys stall…</p><p>“Do you know what does your nanny want to buy?”</p><p>“She didn’t say,” Arslan said, putting his thumb in his mouth. Instead of restless, it seemed he was getting tired.</p><p>Daryun was the one getting restless—if the child fell asleep, he’d have more trouble to find his family. <em>Who the fuck leaves a child unattended in the middle of a market?</em> Daryun thought darkly.</p><p>Maybe… maybe their intention had been that from the start? Daryun had seen the “bring the child somewhere and leave them there” technique before. But the child was well-fed and his clothes were nice—someone obviously had cared for this child. Abandonment wasn’t likely.</p><p>Well, first he’d have to ensure the child didn’t fall asleep on him.</p><p>“Hey.” The boy looked at him with his thumb still in his mouth. “Why did you say that I’m a good person? Don’t my scars scare you?”</p><p>He showed him the scars on his arm. Only then he thought it might be counterproductive. What if he scared him now, and the boy bursted into tears?</p><p>“They hurt?” Arslan asked instead.</p><p>“Not anymore.”</p><p>“Why you got hurt?”</p><p>Daryun pondered on how to answer the question without telling him he’d got them while he was killing Lusitanians right and left. All the while, he was on watch in case he saw a woman looking for a child.</p><p>“I’m a <em>marzban</em>,” he said in a low voice, so no one heard this part. If Narsas caught him spouting these words, he’d have his head on platter. “Sometimes I get hurt when I’m chasing bad people.”</p><p>“What’s a <em>mazzzban</em>?” Daryun couldn’t help smirking. It was cute the trouble he had with the “r” at times.</p><p>“I lead soldiers to make bad people go away.”</p><p>“Like a gene’al?”</p><p>Daryun hummed in affirmation. He had noticed from the start that the boy was quite bright for his age, and the usual irritation he felt when he talked to children was absent.</p><p>“Then you’re good,” the boy affirmed like it was a universal truth. “Nanny says gene’als help people so they’re good.”</p><p>“And you’re a good boy too?” Daryun asked with a lopsided smile.</p><p>“Nanny says I’m a prince,” the boy answered with wide eyes. “She says prince help people too. So… I’m good?”</p><p>This time he couldn’t repress his laughter. The boy had to be the young master of some Parsian rich family—prince was probably a term of endearment. Many Parsian merchants lived now in Gilan, after all.</p><p>Well, it wasn’t as if Daryun could tell him that the only prince Pars had had in the last two decades was standing right in front of him, was it?</p><p>“Yes,” he said when he got his laughs under control. “You’re a good little prince.”</p><p>The child beamed back at him.</p><p>“What do you have in there?”</p><p>The voice of his friend came from behind, so he turned to face him.</p><p>Narsas stopped dead in his tracks, looking at the child he was carrying.</p><p>“I thought you were buying a dagger, not a servant,” he said with a dry voice. “You could have chosen an older one as well.”</p><p>“Don’t be stupid,” Daryun retorted. “I found him earlier. He’s lost.”</p><p>“Lost?” Narsas said, his eyes widening. “I just bumped into a woman looking for a child.”</p><p>They looked at each other, and, without a word, they set for the direction Narsas had come from. In less than fifty steps, they saw a middle-aged woman on the verge of tears, holding a young girl by her hand and asking frantically the people for a child.</p><p>“Nanny!!”</p><p>Arslan writhed in his arms, so Daryun left him down on the floor. The woman had also turned to them, and she opened her arms as the child crashed back into her chest. The onlookers, including Narsas and Daryun, looked with sympathy as a few tears escaped the woman’s eyes.</p><p>“Oh thank gods, thank goddess Ashi, you’re alright. Why did you leave without permission? You can’t wander without an adult!”</p><p>“But there were birds…”</p><p>However, the woman didn’t pay heed to him, approaching them instead.</p><p>“Thank you very much for taking care of him,” she said with a low bow. “How can I repay this favour? I can give you money or…”</p><p>“There’s no need,” Daryun said, raising a hand. “I was merely doing what I should.”</p><p>“Thank you, thank you so much. May the gods bless you for your good heart, young man.”</p><p>The woman bowed a few times more, and left with both children, holding each by their hands. Daryun and Narsas turned to return to the inn, too. As they were leaving, he could hear Arslan’s voice talking to her nanny.</p><p>“Nanny, nanny, I met a gene’al today…”</p><p>“Did you buy a dagger or not?” Asked the nagging voice of his friend next to him.</p><p>“You mustn’t wander so far next time, Your Highness…”</p><p>As he caught the last words, Daryun whipped his head back, almost losing his balance, but he couldn’t see the figures of the woman with the children anymore, lost already in the crowd.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” Narsas asked.</p><p>Bah. He must have heard wrong. Daryun turned back and set off again.</p><p>“Nothing. I didn’t buy a dagger for me, but I found something that may work for you…”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hi! (╯✧▽✧)╯We are here with the bonus update! I hope you'll like it! </p><p>Thank you all very much for the comments, subscribes, bookmarks, kudos! I read all the comments (really, thanks so much (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄) I'll answer them when I can!).</p><p>I'll say, I tend to get carried away when I'm in front of my laptop. I thought, well, I can write some respectable 3-4k, and post it, but... it turned out to be 6400 words long *cries* </p><p>The Kishward scene was in the original draft I wrote for this story. One of the scenes was included in the outline, but I decided to put it here so it didn't disrupt the flow. Another was an improvisation, yet it just gave me the answer for another question I didn't know how to develop. </p><p>In summary: I really shouldn't use bonus chapters to further the plot (wasn't my intention) but now this fic can't go on without this bonus (￣▽￣)</p><p>Btw, this is a very special date for me! Not just because of my bd, but because this fic is also 1 year old! I started collecting data for the fic April 7th last year, and I wrote my first draft on April 21st. I stopped for a while because I was watching The Untamed (I absolutely recommend it) and I fell into that rabbit hole for a while („• ֊ •„)</p><p>Next chapter will be a continuation of where we left the present time of the story! The date stays the same! </p><p>  <strong> Next update: May 14th! </strong></p><p>PD: Btw, I changed my username!</p>
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